


The Berlin Trial

by Żeni (JD_Centric)



Series: Hetalia - Historical Notes [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Crying, Emotional Trauma, F/M, Historical, Historical Figures, Historical Hetalia, Historical References, M/M, Mentions of psychological abuse, Psychological Trauma, Sensitive themes, Separation, WW2, Yugotalia - Freeform, aftermath of war, mentions of physical abuse, use of human names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:14:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24787558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JD_Centric/pseuds/%C5%BBeni
Summary: In the aftermath of the conflict, there is still one more thing to do before they can begin rebuilding all that was lost. A trial is called in the ruins of Berlin, independent from the meetings in Potsdam and Nurnberg and the decisions taken during them, to decide the fate of modern Europe and the world.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia), Belarus/Lithuania (Hetalia), Bulgaria/Romania (Hetalia), Czech Republic/Slovakia (Hetalia), Germany/North Italy (Hetalia), Lithuania/Poland (Hetalia), Prussia/Russia (Hetalia)
Series: Hetalia - Historical Notes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079207
Comments: 30
Kudos: 54





	1. Die Zeit von Berlin

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first time posting anything in a year and the first time I've written anything for Hetalia in years! I've been having a lot of ideas for the fandom ever since I got accepted to study Slavic Studies in university but I've been so scared to post anything after such a long time! I really hope this fic gets some appreciation, though this is just a prologue of sorts, all relationships and more history shall be explored in the following chapters c: I'm also hoping to keep posting for Hetalia this whole summer, it's just so refreshing being in this fandom again! <3 I gladly accept polite critique and historical events and prompts to explore! If I've made mistakes in my research, don't be shy to point them out, I made my research in a hurry for the opening part.

The city had become a graveyard, no matter where they looked the scenery barely changed. The wide streets and boulevards and the wondrous architecture had become a prison cell, just wide enough for a single person to stand and cry out in despair in its very middle.

There wasn’t a single administrative building or one of even small significance left standing. The choice to hold the council and trial in Berlin was made in a hurry and out of necessity rather than choice. It was a comfortable meeting point and there, amidst the rubble and debris, it felt like evidence that the worst was over and it calmed the suffering of those who had been dreaming for a moment such as this. There were enough people who, in the past years, had seen the day they would march along the ruins of the very capital of the one who had brought their own to the ground only in their imagination and dreams.

Seeing the bare skeletons of the buildings looming down over him through the small window of the car left a kind of a bitter taste in Feliciano’s mouth; he chose to ignore the sight altogether despite the need to look for a single proof that Berlin hadn’t been destroyed beyond the point of recovery. Finding one would soothe his conscience at least a little.

It wasn’t often that Feliciano felt the urge to stay silent but despite his lack of words, in the front seat, Lovino was talking up a storm of complaints. There weren’t any good roads anymore and the ride as if went on for hours, the driver apparently didn’t know where he was going as everything had suddenly begun to look the same, they would probably be forced to sleep in the prison with Feliciano’s friends, and that was again his fault, but according to Lovino if that happened he would take the question all the way to the top, to America. Lovino had begun to look up to America but Feliciano, if he knew his brother well enough, which he supposed he did, knew he was doing so out of spite. He had never stopped being bitter over Feliciano’s choices.

“And I don’t want to hear a word from you when we get there,” Loving used the chance to remind him, while on the subject, “I’ll talk the whole time! No questions, not even looking at anybody, am I clear? You’ll look at someone not the right way and you’ll make them think you’re still some filthy sympathizer! For Christ’s sake, we’re already in so much trouble, do you want more?”

He carried on in the same loud tone of voice, despite the visible discomfort of the driver. Even though Lovino wasn’t trying to purposefully pick a fight with Feliciano, he didn’t sound as caring as someone would when scolding their sibling for their own good. Lovino had made it a habit of raising his voice around Feliciano when trying to assert himself over the past few years, hoping at least that if he spoke louder, the words would get through Feliciano’s stubborn and thrusting nature.

When the car dropped them off in front of the emergency administrative headquarters of the Allies, Lovino had forgotten Feliciano and was instead loudly discussing their condition and options with their lawyer. He had approved him himself – a young man with no more than ten years of practice who had come to defend them from America. Lovino had told Feliciano that the more they showed they were ready to redeem themselves and adopt the new policies, the quicker they would be out of the mud Feliciano had driven them in.

For the purpose of a prison and courtroom at once, they had adopted a building that might have served the administration before but was now in a condition better than its neighbours – that meant its floors were good enough not to fall through under a man’s weight and despite the obvious signs of warfare inside, its walls remained stubbornly upright and solid. Some few streets away had to be Unter den Linden. There were hardly any civilians, all that was left there were soldiers in uniforms Feliciano knew were those of the enemy.

If Lovino caught him thinking in such a way, he would be mad; there were no more enemies. In fact, the only person who Feliciano was allowed to think of as an enemy now was the single person he had never wanted to call so.

A soldier who stood guard by the venue’s entrance searched them – against which Lovino angrily protested and tried to threaten the man that America would hear about this – before running inside to phone a third party. They were allowed to wait inside during that and Feliciano wanted to, jokingly, of course, mention to Lovino how odd it was to be in Berlin and hear no German. He refrained though, unsure of his brother’s mood.

How much time had passed since he had heard German speech at all? It felt like a whole lifetime, although both the Allies and the Soviet forces had advanced so quickly, in a matter of months. And no matter how much they tried to explain it to him, Feliciano could only imagine that come Monday, he will be back in Rome, he would be called in to report to his officials – most of whom were not amongst them anymore – and would then wait to go home, to have dinner, to gather in the home of one neighbour or other for a drink. It felt only natural; the world had changed far too quickly for him to catch up. Even seeing the city he had once been taught was a symbol of might and stability in ruins couldn’t quite make him believe it wasn’t all well-crafted theatrical decorum.

After waiting some few minutes, which were filled with Lovino complaining to the soldier – who tried to argue back despite obviously quite lost in the Italian and the rapid gestures he was forced to decipher – someone came rushing down from one of the upper floors. Again, Italy couldn’t believe the way things had changed in a matter of months. Here he was, forbidden from speaking German on German soil, made to shake none other than England’s hand when he came to greet them.

“Well what would you expect, you git,” he turned to the soldier who tried to throw some offence or other Lovino’s way, “he’s speaking in Italian! How exactly were you expecting to argue!”

Arthur had hardly changed at all. Feliciano couldn’t recall seeing him since Africa. The last person he had seen on his own ground before declaring capitulation had been America. Seeing Arthur now intimidated him far more than seeing him in the field of battle, at least a rifle’s length away. Despite greeting them rather warmly considering the reasons for their meeting, it was obvious he was trying to keep them at a distance – both physically and mentally, treating them as POWs rather than…whatever they were considered, Feliciano had begun to doubt their status lately.

“There’s a building a block away,” Arthur told them while leading them towards an almost-empty office, “we have troops stationed there. That’s where you and some of us will stay for the time being while the trial is running.”

“So no prisons?” Lovino asked in broken English.

“Believe me, some of us wouldn’t be against seeing you in a cell.”

Those words made Lovino quiet down quickly and Feliciano couldn’t say they hadn’t scared him a bit too. Their lawyer had been telling them the entire time how they had no reason to worry, considering they had raised the white flag at the right time, but that would hardly change the way people saw them. The enemy, the traitors, the criminals.

Arthur let them sit down on the couch in front of a dinner table turned desk where a cigarette lay dying in a dirty ashtray beside a stack of papers. He stubbed it out before turning towards them.

“Now,” Arthur said, intertwining his fingers together over the tabletop and staring them down much like a disappointed teacher, “how about we start by you giving me a direct account of your movement starting with the autumn of the 39th to the date of your capitulation.”

Where Italy and Romano both lacked the certainty to argue with giving such information to a single man without anyone there to write it down, their lawyer very politely asked Arthur on what grounds he was interrogating them, considering such an account had been given after their capitulation and to American generals.

“Make no mistake,” Arthur said, “we have that initial report right here. This isn’t even an interrogation. I’m merely making sure what we’ve been given isn’t different than the story you’ll tell us in the courtroom. The prosecution also needs time and is giving immense effort to properly prepare.”

It was no mistake Lovino had brought a lawyer, if it was up to them, they would be too ashamed to even try and defend themselves, aside from an impatient argument or two from Lovino. Regular people appeared to see things in a far different point of view than them, that’s why this trial was in a way independent from any other form of political negotiations and interventions. No matter how hard they tried, it was out of the question to suppose England or any other would step into the courtroom with the fairest of process on their mind.

“Do you think they’re holding Ludwig here before the trial?” Feliciano asked his brother in a small voice, hiding behind his back while England later led them towards the room they had turned into a hearing room. “It wouldn’t be too bad if they let us see them, I wonder how they are doing after, I’m really worried…”

“Not a word about that!” Lovino warned him, waving a finger in front of Feliciano’s face, “I don’t want to hear! You don’t speak of him, you don’t mention him to anybody! There will be no helping him, no bringing him anything and no talking to him while we’re here, out of the question. When they bring that bastard in, you’ll look the other way! If I hear anybody even mentioning both of you together and you as his friend, I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you on the spot! Don’t even think about it, am I clear, don’t even think about getting us in even bigger trouble or I swear to God, Feliciano…”

He carried on in the same manner, whispering orders to Feliciano and when their lawyer joined in, reminding Italy to be careful not to affiliate himself with Germany under no circumstances and to think before answering any of the Allies’ questions during the process, Feliciano realised that no matter what there was no use arguing. Almost an entire lifetime of alliances and mutual help was forced to end and they treated the matter as if it was so easy, as if he could just wake up one day and declare, “Me and Ludwig are no longer friends!”, and not just declare but believe those words. Italy tried to find it in himself to argue as loudly as Lovino did but he knew well enough not to. He had been influenced by his brother, of course, but the decision to surrender had been his. And he knew why he had taken it and it had nothing to do with his and Ludwig’s friendship.

In fact, Feliciano had a hard time assuring himself that Ludwig even thought of him as a friend rather than an ally the past year or two.

There were already others except them there – some were already seated inside while the rest talked between themselves or with lawyers and representatives of their ministries in the hall outside. When they noticed them approaching, the conversations became muted, hushed, while others fell silent completely in favour of outright staring them down – some sourly, bitter, others with pity. Feliciano could hardly step out from behind Lovino and face those eyes on his own, that’s why there were two of them, to face the shame together and make it lighter. But Feliciano wasn’t ready for this, he would never be ready for this parade.

So he merely closed his eyes and shut away these people who he had grown up with and betrayed so lightly, like he shut away the sight of the ruined Berlin to help himself believe that tomorrow it would all be much better.

“Sit yourselves down over there,” Arthur told them, waving a hand towards the inside of the room, “in the front, on the right. We’ll have to begin soon.”

He left them to go and have a word with who appeared to be Russia, Feliciano couldn’t even recognise him, while they walked inside. Everybody seemed different, their faces grim, haunted. They spoke quickly whenever they had something to say to each other, there were no friends, no allies and no unnecessary pleasantries. Even long-time partnerships appeared strained and alienated. Nobody was worth trusting anymore, the war had shown the true faces of everyone. How long would it even take to regain the trust that had been lost?

The room seemed empty and wide on the inside, long, like the throat of a monster about to swallow them. There was a table in the very bottom meant for four and two more in front. At the sight of them, Feliciano’s heart jumped all the way to his throat. There were tables and chairs on the right and left, a few in the very back that remained empty. But considering the number of chairs, there were very few people present. In fact, Feliciano felt as though he could count them all on his fingers. There were hardly any other colours except green, beige, blandness and stern faces – jurors.

On the right Belgium, the Netherlands, Finland, on the left Czech and Slovakia sitting one chair apart. Feliciano didn’t dare raise his head to look around the rest of those present. They walked up front and sat themselves down where Arthur had told them to.

“No looking at him when they bring him,” Lovino ordered him one more time, speaking just in his ear, “I swear, they look like they’ll eat you alive if you even dare say a word. So keep quiet.”

“Yes, but…”

“No _buts_.”

Their lawyer grabbed Lovino’s attention with some question and Feliciano was left alone again. He raised his head towards the window, to the darkened sky and ruined homes. His eyes met Bulgaria’s for a brief moment; the other smiled at him somewhat and raised his hand to wave. Feliciano returned the smile and waved back but his small happiness was interrupted when Romania, who sat on Bulgaria’s right, kicked him under the table and whispered something to him, perhaps a warning not to look at him too much, God forbid someone supposed they were still together in whatever way.

The Allies came in just a moment later, followed by those who had stayed to talk in the hall. Some countries jumped to their feet as a form of respect but quickly sat down when they noticed that a good few of the rest were stubbornly sitting down.

Arthur sat in what appeared to be the middle of the table, on his left sat Ivan, on his right France. Feliciano wondered if the way everybody was seated in the hearing room was accidental or if the coincidence was too great to be true. Only America was missing and of course, the main defendants.

“I’m glad to see the bigger part of you here,” England began, after greeting them all, “in what I hope is good health. I’d like to also greet the gentlemen here representing their respective governments and who have taken the responsibility of counselling those of us who need it, we all appreciate your presence and thank you for participating. I won’t even begin to explain the reason we’re here, you see yourselves that we’re still not all. The reason being that some of us couldn’t make it today. We do hope that we can continue the process with all of us present soon.”

Here he paused, searching for the right words to carry on with – his speech was apparently impromptu for the most part, which made it all the more bitter to listen to.

“Most of us are here to see a fair trial,” Arthur continued, “so what I’ll ask of you is to stick to the democratic and fair laws Europe has built itself on, though apparently some of us have decided that we still live in the middle ages – when it was possible, excusable and even encouraged to stomp over somebody and declare their land and people their own, taking part in mass slaughters, executions and all kinds of inhumane activities I had hoped we had outgrown. Apparently I was wrong. We have all made mistakes, we have all taken part in bloodshed, so let us not put ourselves above the rest or preach morals as the process goes on. What we strongly discourage is pointing fingers and throwing accusations based on personal impressions alone, that’s not what Europe and the world needs currently. Let’s be reasonable, although I can’t possibly be speaking just for myself when I say I _am_ disappointed with what we’ve become with the beginning of this new century. Let us show the world that Europe is most of all a civilized continent and that we regard our laws. Now, the sooner we begin, the sooner we will finish and don’t we all want that…”

Feliciano held his breath then when Arthur nodded towards the armed guard standing by the door.

“Bring them in, please.”

The soldier saluted and walked out; the room became eerily still and silent then, the only noise being that of infrequent whispers and the shuffling of papers. If Feliciano had looked up, he would see that Arthur’s speech had hardly influenced anyone. Nobody was there to see a fair trial, only a fair conviction and a punishment as severe as all they had gone through in the past handful of years combined – excuses wouldn’t be accepted.

Feliciano couldn’t help but look over his shoulder when the door was opened again, despite Lovino’s warnings. Only the small amount of willing allies of the Axis looked at the defendants with concern and compassion as they were led in by armed military personnel and seeing their dishevelled, unkempt and miserable appearance not only did they feel a strong sense of pity but also a spark of fear of what could happen to them as well.

From Italy’s right came a gasp:

“God protect us, Mr Austria,” Hungary nearly exclaimed and when she moved to sit up, as if to run for him, she was harshly scolded by Arthur.

“Can we please not cause unnecessary scenes,” he asked of her, the polite words contradicting his sharp tone.

They sat them down on the other table facing the Allies and took off the cuffs from their wrists. It was apparent that they hadn’t been given enough time or means to prepare for the hearing at all – it was obvious without even trying to see the signs that Ludwig was unwell, much more so than Mr Roderick or Gilbert. He slumped down in his chair almost immediately and avoided looking anywhere but at his hands. He didn’t even try to look over at Feliciano. His wounds were dressed clumsily from what could be seen and perhaps there were even more so bandages under the uniform he still wore despite it being nearly black with mud, soot and whatever else.

Mr Roderick looked healthy, despite the fact he was shaking in his chair like a child caught in a lie by its parents. His eyes darted left and right as if he wasn’t sure where he was or why he was there. Only Gilbert dared to look at the Allies directly; if he was even slightly nervous or afraid, it didn’t show in his behaviour. An impressive bruise covered cheek and he looked much more battered than Ludwig but nevertheless he maintained an impressive amount of pride and stoicism given the fact where he was and what had led to it. Of course, Gilbert wasn’t delusional, there was though nothing else to hang onto than pride.

“Ludwig and Gilbert Beilschmidt, representatives of the ex-German third Reich and Prussia respectively, their independent governments, people and historical territories, Roderick Edelstein, representative of the independent country of Austria, Feliciano and Lovino Vargas, representatives of the north and south of Italy respectively,” Arthur read out in a monotone voice, “you are here today to be tried in a process against the third German Reich and its subordinates, led by regimes deemed as inhuman, cruel and a dangerous influence to the present and future generations. You are charged with numerous crimes of differing severity against your own people and various European minorities and nationalities. This trial, however, and the decisions that come from it will only be declared as official if they are the same as those of the official meetings and trials that will further decide the fate of your governments and approve or disapprove our decisions. Do you understand your position as defendants and agree with the charges?”

Lovino and Gilbert were the ones that declared that, yes, they understood and agreed.

“Germany you declined a lawyer, does your decision still stand?”

“Yes, we will defend ourselves,” Gilbert answered, despite the question not being directed towards him. Arthur decided not to comment, despite his obvious annoyance.

“What do you plead to the charges?” He asked.

Both sides replied guilty. They took the full weight of their crimes and were ready to face all the consequences their decisions had brought.

The stenographer typed away in the corner of the room behind the Allies’ table and the longer he typed down, the quicker his report began to shape into one bizarre catastrophe, mirroring the accusations flung left and right in the improvised courtroom.

It began with their lawyer presenting their defence and he did so without straying too far from the realm of plausibility. Then again, the well-crafted defence could be summarised in one easy statement – neither Feliciano nor Lovino knew the details of the crimes their government was aiding, they, as physical representatives of their nation, had been kept in the dark regarding the majority of the aspects of their partnership with the Reich. This they could all believe; their roles as nations in their public and political affairs were in enough ways limited – their government and political representatives were chosen primarily through the voice of the people and their actions, though they could be influenced, did not rely on their decisions.

Of course, what they were aiming for was a sentence that included as less repercussion as possible, they couldn’t entirely erase their actions. But Italy’s involvement in enabling the spread of the Fascist ideology, though a crime in itself, was less interesting to the majority of Europe which was about ready to barbarically punish the occupier and enemy.

The prosecution accepted Italy’s defence and gave word to Germany. Everybody was more than ready to hear an explanation from the very root of the problem but before he could stand up to defend himself, Prussia stood, effectively stealing the word.

“We accept all accusations presented by the prosecution,” he spoke, his tone rather calm considering that his hands had begun to shake while he listened to the reports Arthur and later Ivan presented while questioning Italy’s lawyer. No matter his nervousness, Gilbert had enough experience in diplomacy to know not to let it show. “And in our defence…we, namely myself and my brother, weren’t informed on a lot of matters.”

That excused mimicked that of Italy but after hearing an entire well-written speech explaining in detail their involvement, Gilbert’s bare summary and lack of actual explanation caused only outrage.

Even the stenographer struggled to write down everything following that claim – accusations were flung left and right, as small as the number of participants at that time was, their voices became even louder the more they spoke and tried to yell over each other. There couldn’t have been a way, they argued, that neither of them knew even the barest details of what their government was up to, considering they were entitled to receive detailed reports of the country’s political stances and decisions, especially during the time of war. They had also discussed delicate matters with a majority of them during their time of occupation and only the ones that had willingly aided them had to keep their mouths shut out of shame – Gilbert’s declaration that they had simply been misinformed of the decisions in their own government was ridiculous.

But, he went on to clarify, they were only told of and allowed to aid in the process of occupation, which he couldn’t deny. They had an equal amount of say in the terms of which that process was carried out and, yes, they did so through voting and did, in fact, vote positively to a certain degree of brutality during that process. Other acts of crimes they were being held accountable for and their details were kept from them through laws regarding only their involvement in the political life of their respective countries.

“In other words,” Belgium exclaimed from the back, leaning across the table only to get a better look at Ludwig before the Netherlands had to calm her down, “what you’re saying is that you weren’t there in the camps? You’re saying you didn’t threaten to kill fifty men of mine for the life of one of yours? What of all of this don’t you know happened!”

“Of course he didn’t know,” Belarus spat, her knee jutting up and down under the table as she struggled to remain composed, “can’t you see, they forced the gun in his hands.”

“Everybody, quiet down!” Arthur was forced to exclaim when the cacophony became unbearable. “One more outburst such as this and we will call a break! Prussia, explain, if you will, just what you were not informed of, considering the fact that your personal movement during the warfare on the eastern front tells a very different story.”

He didn’t deny his advances in the east. He admitted even to declaring war on the Soviets by crossing the border they had set in the very beginning of the war and explained it simply as him following a pre-set plan of military advances. In other words, Gilbert was well-aware that those advances were contrary to a number of contracts signed between his brother and the Soviets and yet he hadn’t questioned the orders he had been given.

“It was just us going to war,” he dared to say in a tone that was shockingly matter-of-fact. “It was no different than any other form of warfare and campaigns we had led beforehand.”

“You mentioned a premade plan of warfare. What exactly did it include?”

Gilbert explained the very touchy subject Arthur was asking about simply – while he hadn’t initially agreed to a lot of points their propaganda had been filled with, following his unification with Germany and later their recapturing of Danzig, he had been encouraged by the heightened spirit of the masses. His own vote in the political matters carried only as much weight as that of the majority, thus his beliefs had changed drastically following the quick succession of the German military in 1939th and 1940th.

It was no secret that Gilbert had had an argument with Ludwig over politics and so his words weren’t fully disregarded. In fact, in many ways other than merely political and ideological, the majority of them were more inclined to believe him. They knew Gilbert far better than Ludwig, the latter having wasted a good amount of his time building a very bad reputation and running on borrowed trust.

It was no wonder Gilbert was doing most of the talking either. He used centuries of international relationships to his advantage, but there was no sure way to tell how well that would work out. They as nations had seen enough violence and they were responsible for one wrong after another but they had always been ready to forgive and forget if only to benefit their people. Gilbert had even assured Ludwig, quietly, under the noses of the soldiers guarding them, that whatever punishment they were given and whatever decisions were taken, it would only be a matter of years until all was forgotten again. It was a natural chain of events; disappointment and hurt only lasted so long, even if the feeling seemed too immense to handle.

“And in that plan of warfare,” Russia asked what England had meant to, looking at Gilbert rather smugly as if he already knew the question would cause another spectacle, “where exactly was the destruction of minorities included?”

Gilbert would have asked him a different question – what would the elimination of his own men be considered and was the extermination of his own minorities and subordinates a lesser crime than his own?

He bit his tongue so he wouldn’t argue, that was the last thing they needed. He knew that by now Ivan would get away with whatever he said. His own subordinates appeared far too scared to speak up and his enemies hardly knew what happened in the east. If Ivan hadn’t charged against him, swiping through half of Europe in the last moment, he would’ve probably been answering for his crimes right beside both Prussia and Germany, but whoever would be brave enough to accuse him now? In fact, even the Baltics had heaved a short sigh of relief when the Soviet soldiers had pushed his own out of their borders, no matter if the relief had been short-lived.

There was nothing but enemies surrounding them now, enemies or what was worse, ex-subordinates.

“We weren’t told…”

“Oh, don’t start with that.” Arthur stopped him, “Your movement during the war was documented and it is no rumour that you were assigned to the overseeing of numerous camps. You mean to tell us that you never once questioned the state and inhumane treatment of your prisoners of war? Or that you found it fitting for women and children to be scurrying around, as hungry and as naked as rats?”

“You are wrong in your information,” Gilbert began again, “while I was assigned as a supervisor of all actions being taken on the eastern front, I never spent more than a number of days at a time at any camp…And all information of the conduct there was classified, other people dealt with the details there.”

“But you knew of their purpose?”

“I knew them merely as passing or holding points for prisoners, enemies of the state and their families…”

“And how come were enemies of the state convicted without trials and deported from the countries of your subordinates? And how come was there legitimate documentation with your signatures on them detailing the numbers and reasons for numerous deportations of minorities to Germany?”

“We used them as cheap workers…”

“And how many workers did you really need?”

The longer Gilbert denied, the more irritated Arthur became. He was easily pushing him into a corner of badly masked truths.

“If you didn’t know, then somebody else must have,” England decided, “Italy, did you? Or Bulgaria, who’s signature is on a number of forms and contracts approving all of this?”

Feliciano’s lawyer was quick to deny all charges, or at least he tried to. The Italian government had been liberal towards its minorities, disagreeing to engage in discrimination, deportations or the active extermination of its minorities, primarily its Jewish citizens.

“We never closed the borders,” was Bulgaria’s only defence, “and we never prohibited the travel outside of the country for any minority. We were most of all pressured to comply with Germany on those matters but we did halt the process for as long as we could…”

“So you’re saying that excused any further actions of your government?” Arthur asked.

“We didn’t quite deport the numbers that were stated in the documentation…” Bulgaria trailed off.

“And by that you mean you actually benefitted your people?”

“Well…We did try to stand behind them and offer more support than they were met with elsewhere.”

England was the type to hold a grudge; the longer he scowled at him, the more unease Bulgaria began to feel until he finally got tired of the silent battle and lowered his gaze.

“Well isn’t that a good excuse. I’d like to see then who signed the papers authorising the rest of the deportations from a number of other countries.”

He looked accusingly at Ludwig but he kept as quiet as a fish. Whatever could he say? An hour had almost passed in debates and charades and nobody was even close to talking about a sentence. They were all still talking reasons, trying to dig deep enough to see a cause for all of their misfortune. But was there even an answer to the question why at all? Other than the futile attempt of a young and self-assured country to show the world its worth after being sent to the corner to cry after one already lost war.

“You all seem to be speaking only about their fault,” Slovakia spoke suddenly, looking at the Allies with too much bravery for a just liberated country, though shame and niceties weren’t much present in the room, “but I have a question, for Mr Britain and Mr France. Isn’t it the truth that a number of us knew about Germany breaking the rules just before the war? And isn’t it the truth that you allowed him to and found it acceptable to sacrifice east Europe for the sake of peace with him?”

“And aren’t we even going to mention that Russia was our ally?” Hungary exclaimed, again in defence of the defendants.

From the left row of tables, Belarus yelled, “We never authorised whatever horrible things they did! We never agreed to anything more than a peace treaty!”

England threatened to make them leave the meeting if there was another such outburst but after Slovakia’s question, his composure had begun to crumble. While Russia merely observed the spectacle, disinterested in defending his political decisions regarding the Reich when so few actually knew of the full extent of their treaties, neither Francis nor Arthur could get away with it without at least attempting to cover it up.

“Was anybody ready for war then?” England asked, directing his question towards all of them, “We all know politics isn’t always a fair game. We tried to appease the German government.”

“And what even was the strategic outlook on the matters back then?” Lithuania spoke out, his tone quite even to the surprise of a few. “To appease the German government and hope that when they get what they want, they will stop? In that case, who gave you right to approve the forceful annexations of territories that weren’t even yours in the hands of both the Reich and the Soviet Union?”

“We had no hand in the expansion of the Soviet Union.” Arthur spat, regretting quickly how easily he was forced to graze another touchy subject. Ivan didn’t seem to mind, he was even impressed by what he was seeing and hearing, but his amusement did have certain boundaries.

“So, in that case, what can you guarantee the states of eastern Europe?”

“This is by far a meeting to determine your state!”

Some quickly began to ask them what he had meant with that quick declaration and if they had fallen into the hands of just another occupier after having ridden themselves of the last one. And not only eastern Europe would benefit from liberation from the Soviets, for some like Finland it was a matter of retaining a certain status, for others such as Belgium and even Denmark hearing how easily the Allies, the liberators, gave up the idea of helping an ally not happy with its current status, posed the threat of them too having no ally in the time of need and crisis should they happen to need it.

The attention wasn’t on the defendants anymore and Gilbert soon sat down while the trial took a drastic but not surprising turn. Who truly was at fault for one of history’s greatest tragedies? Who stood by and allowed the bloodshed that could have been stopped long before the order was ever even given out?

Those questions continued to light the fires of a number of loud arguments until Arthur was forced to cancel the meeting for that day. Germany, Prussia and Austria were escorted out by the soldiers that had brought them in and to Feliciano’s surprise, a man with lieutenant rank announced to them that he would lead them to a room they could have during their stay. Being led out by military subordinates could only mean that they too were under guard and scrutiny, captives with only a few more liberties.


	2. Czasy Zdrad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the promised chapter 2! This one is juicier and heavier on plot, kind of framing the major relationships and problems for later. It's also heavier on history so I'll put the things that might be confusing in the endnotes for you! The next three chapters will be more centred on single characters but I'll probably post chapter three by the end of next week so I can take time to write chapter four and ready. Have fun reading and I hope this fic isn't too dry, I wanted it to be emotional! Comments and polite critique are always appreciated <33

The next hearing was delayed greatly by the Potsdam Conference, which coincided purposefully with the trial and demanded the attention of both England and Russia. America wasn’t present, something which surprised them, as he was the kind of person who liked to keep himself informed and wouldn’t miss anything which, in this day and age, concerned the Soviet Union as well.

Arthur had hoped to meet him at the conference before their leave for Berlin. The last time he had heard of him had been shortly before the capitulation of Italy and that had been a worryingly long while ago. And they hadn’t managed to meet in person then either; while Arthur had been fighting with Francis on the western front, Alfred had visited Italy to discuss his position. He had called Arthur to announce his presence in Europe and the next he heard of him, Alfred was already fighting Japan out of the Philippines.

He might have been well-informed of the movement of the American military and their government’s decisions but Arthur knew almost nothing of what Alfred himself was doing and where. At least he didn’t need to fear whether he had been killed or not but nevertheless Arthur was worried. Between their time in Africa, Japan’s declaration of war and perhaps, if he knew him well, the Blitz in London, anything could've happened to Alfred. There were surely things far worse than physical pain and that Arthur feared the most - what kind of scars would this war leave Alfred with?

The day after he returned to Berlin, Arthur made a futile attempt to contact him. When he couldn’t manage, he did the next best thing – he tried to reach Australia.

“What do you mean he’s not with you anymore?” Arthur exclaimed when his charge told him of the past few months spent on the Pacific front. He had been informed of the liberation of Okinawa as soon as it had happened but it seemed that Alfred had left for America not long after the island had been taken over by the Allied forces. He hadn't told Australia, who had been an effective link between him and Arthur before that, when or even if he would be back.

“We cornered Japan,” Australia let him know, “and Alfie said that war in the Pacific will be ending soon. But I haven’t heard of him since before he left for Okinawa, we’ve been busy ourselves, so I didn’t have a chance to ask about him. Last I heard was that he left the front and is back in America.”

“But he hasn’t called us…He wasn’t at the conference, I thought he was with you.”

“Sorry to disappoint…”

“Never mind that.” Arthur sighed, incapable of hiding his disappointment, “But I will try to get a hold of him. Please have an ear out and tell me if you hear anything about him…”

“Will do!” Australia enthusiastically promised.

“Thank you, Christian…Make sure to keep me updated on whatever’s going on there.”

The conversation left Arthur even more so bothered by Alfred’s absence. If he had left the Pacific front, why hadn’t he come to Berlin already? What could be so urgent that he would have to miss the trial, especially now that Japan was about to capitulate?

“You don’t understand,” he told Francis as they made their way towards the building they had turned into headquarters, “he should have reported about his whereabouts to us the moment he decided to leave the Pacific! The nerve…Even at the conference when I asked about him they told me he was still fighting Japan. They lied, those wankers!”

“Either that or even they don't know for certain where he is,” Francis supposed, though he hardly believed that sort of explanation.

“I don’t know…I don't believe they don't know. Whatever he’s planning, we’ll learn eventually, so that isn’t a reason not to be here! I can’t even believe that he isn’t marching in already, with how much he loves to push his nose everywhere…”

“So what did happen at the conference?” France asked.

Arthur tried to summarise the topics of discussion. Most notably the offers their governments were willing to make Japan to assure his quicker capitulation.

“Considering the decisions we took during the Yalta conference,” he said, “and now that we’re about to decide the rest of the details, I’m assuming we will have to move along this trial. We can’t wait for Japan forever either, we’ll give him just enough time as it is necessary for him to give us a reply to an ultimatum. But we have to proceed with all the plans we have for Europe as soon as the trial ends. We don't have time to waste trying to coax Mr Honda into surrendering.”

“Do you approve of the decisions they’re making during this conference?”

“So far I haven’t heard a single undeserved action that is being proposed and considered. In fact, I'm sure that when we reach a decision of our own, all sides will agree with the verdict. If not, then the decisions of the conference will matter more, of course.”

Francis wondered if there even was a reason to hold the trial then, other than to make sure everybody knew of their final decisions and to prevent any major surprises and misunderstandings between them. Considering the times, however, he wondered if that too would ever be possible.

“And what did Ivan have to say?” Francis asked, “He did have a hand in all of this…I would be surprised if he had no demands of his own.”

“What could he say?” Arthur sighed, “I have a feeling he’s stalling for whatever reason. He’s reluctant to agree to anything we’re proposing. Though the primary topic was Japan and they do have a treaty between each other.”

“Do you think he will want a piece of him after all?”

“This is Russia we’re talking about. What do you think?”

“He would only benefit from having access to the Pacific. Considering the fact that eastern Europe will undoubtedly remain a satellite to his union, it wouldn’t be wise to stop him either…”

“Let’s not give Ivan that big of an advantage, shall we?” Arthur scoffed. He had never expected that things could stray so far from what they had planned originally – Germany was supposed to provide a border between them and the communist threat and now Russia was shamelessly announcing ownership over half of Europe.

They reached the entrance to their headquarters and Arthur felt a sudden urge to cough, as if an invisible hand had grabbed and yanked on his poor lungs and throat. He held onto his chest until the wave of discomfort and pain ebbed away and only when he felt France patting his back with worry and asking him if he was alright that he forced himself to stand upright again.

“I wouldn’t want to worry you, Arthur,” Francis told him, his face and tone showing nothing but concern, even though he wasn’t in a state better than England’s, “but you should take better care of yourself.”

“It’s fine,” Arthur dismissed with a wave of his hand, “we’ve been having enough on our heads lately. It’s one meeting after another, one conference after another…It’s satisfying to know that he isn’t having it any better.”

The he in question was surely Ludwig, though Francis couldn’t help but wonder if their actions were anymore ethical than Germany’s had been. He had had enough casualties following the greedy invasion of the Reich beyond what he had rightfully taken after the first war. Arthur himself was still recovering from the effects of the Blitz. Though it wasn’t so much that their actions were undeserved, what worried Francis was that they had unleashed a wave of cruelties that, though justified, he found unnecessary and hideous.

Speaking of which, Francis couldn’t help but remind himself of what direction the trial would take soon, speaking of cruelties. He couldn’t help but voice his concern either.

“You do know who’s supposed to be here for the next hearing, don’t you?”

Arthur, who had just been about to enter the building and head to his office, stopped quickly and heaved a heavy, almost irritated sigh. He had almost forgotten.

“Oh, right,” he said, “Poland’s coming this week…”

“I can imagine already the circus that little rascal will cause,” Francis almost laughed, “but it was to be expected.”

“Considering where we had to end the hearing last time, I can only imagine the chaos he’ll start. He won’t even think to keep his mouth shut. He doesn’t fear Russia either. For all he knows, he’ll be surrounded by enemies and…traitors, when he comes. He won't have a reason to stay quiet.”

Though both doubted Poland would come just to cause a scene without any motive, enough had happened to make them believe that he wouldn’t mind spilling out all his bitterness on them publically. Never mind that Arthur had hosted his government…

Poland wasn’t a sympathizer of Russia’s and he was certainly impatient to see both Germany and Prussia not only convicted, not just punished but perhaps removed from the map for good already. He had nothing left to lose either. While feeling as though they all owed him, Poland would most likely have nothing to stop him from making jabs at both them and Germany during the trial.

But they couldn’t tell him not to come either. Arthur could hardly wait for the hearing to begin already, just so it could end that much quicker.

The day Ivan told him he would be leaving with Arthur for Potsdam, Tolys went to see Natalia. He carried a suitcase in hand and when he reached the room she shared with Irina, he left it on the floor to knock.

The electricity had been stopped in almost half of the city and until it was proper time to turn on the gas lamps and light the few candles they had scavenged, they would have to rely only on the scarce light the setting sun provided. Its copper hues spilt inside the small bare room when Natalia opened the door.

“I brought you and Ukraine clothes,” Tolys told her, lifting up the suitcase.

Despite having let her dirty hair down, Natalia was still dressed in the faded green uniform she had worn almost the entire way from Minsk to Berlin and its state was evidence of those merciless months. The muddy boots she wore were visibly a number or two too big for her too and Natalia had perhaps stuffed them full of papers aside from tying them to her legs with bandages and layers of tape. Ivan had told him in private that he wanted both Belarus and Ukraine to be dressed as fashionably as Belgium or Hungary, during the trial at least. So Tolys had spent almost three days now searching for something as meaningless as dresses, reminding himself the entire time how every piece of clothing he found had belonged to a woman or young girl who wouldn’t even have a home to return to.

“I hope some of these will fit you comfortably,” he told Natalia when she let him in. “I’ll try to find shoes but I fear you’ll have to last a bit more with your own.”

“I won’t wear anything that a fascist whore has worn,” Natalia declared, shutting the door and crossing her arms stubbornly.

Tolys sighed; he left the suitcase on the floor beside one of the two cots and undid the clasps to open it.

“But Mr Russia would like it if you too could dress like a woman for the trial. He wanted the best for you…And besides, the… ‘fascist whores’ won’t be needing these now. You might as well have what you like.”

He took out one dress he thought would fit Natalia and laid it down on the bed. Most of what he had gotten were clothes he was sure Natalia had grown used to not wearing. German women wore finer materials than thick wool and rough cotton.

“I can find water and a basin you can use to wash, at least,” Tolys told her, not meaning to offend her in any way. Natalia knew so, despite still scowling at the sight of the clothes he had brought her. “Try out at least one before you throw them out. I’ll go find out where and when they will be handing out rations.”

“Lithuania,” Natalia stopped him before he could walk out.

“Yes?”

She said nothing for a moment and Tolys wondered what she found so hard to say. When Natalia finally told him to go without telling him why she had stopped him, Tolys left her by herself. He knew her well enough to know that she had wanted to thank him.

It was on his way outside that he walked in on Ivan walking out of what was England’s office. Of course, he was immediately noticed and Ivan smiled when he saw him, fixing the hat over his head. Unlike his sisters, he was sharply dressed in an officer’s uniform – it was only fitting that he enter Berlin not only feeling but also looking like a winner and hero of the European theatre. Tolys hadn’t seen him raise the Soviet flag over the Reichstag but he was somewhat bitter in the end that it hadn’t been the Allies to set foot there first.

“Tolys!” He greeted him familiarly, “Did you do as I asked you?”

“Of course,” Tolys replied, “I was just about to go and see where I could get food to bring Ms Belarus and Ms Ukraine.”

He had gotten used to turning towards the people who he had grown up with and even raised so formally. Ivan had always seemed to appreciate it, though he didn’t correct him whenever he forgot to either.

“Oh, yes, thank you so much,” Ivan nodded, “Listen, Tolys, about today…”

Lithuania immediately knew what Ivan wanted to talk about; he had wished he would forget. Of course, he had spoken out at the hearing, he couldn’t have possibly stopped himself. He had been moved around between the Union and the Reich throughout the entirety of the war and he knew that it hardly mattered if he said a word or two at a formal meeting – he had a hunch that this time Russia had come to stay and it was hard to mask his bitterness over the fact.

He hadn’t necessarily spoken out against Russia but against the actions of the Allies and Tolys told this to Ivan before he could accuse him.

“I wasn’t going to scold you!” Ivan almost laughed, much to Tolys’ surprise, “I merely wanted to say that you ought to be careful now what you say and what not. I wanted to say that I will be leaving for Potsdam with Britain soon. We were asked to join the meetings personally. So I wouldn’t be able to cover your behaviour for you, now that I myself am under surveillance.”

Tolys knew they would be back to their old habits soon if Ivan spoke so casually of surveillance. He wasn’t so sure anymore if he had expected better.

“I also got word from a very good friend of ours,” Ivan exclaimed, sounding excited, and Tolys found himself perking up, “It appears he will be ready to come earlier than we had expected, but we’ll have to delay the trial due to our absence. So I will give you the date we decide on to go and pick him up. It would be good to meet each other again now that the war has ended for all of us, yes?”

But Lithuania couldn’t quite enjoy the good news, something else had suddenly begun to bother him.

“Mr Russia, just what will you be discussing in Potsdam?” He asked.

“Hmm, a lot of things, it seems. You must have heard about Japan, we have to find a way to coerce him into surrender, otherwise it wouldn’t matter if the war here has ended. But don’t you worry about that, Tolys, for the time being, while in Berlin, I would very much like you to rest. Enjoy the city, entertain yourself. You deserve it.”

He made a pause and just as Tolys was about to heave a sigh of relief that he had been spared a remark about his bold behaviour Ivan turned towards him again. This time he appeared reluctant to even speak but he did tell Tolys why he had gotten the sudden urge to.

“I am afraid that we will have a very interesting conversation with America,” he said grimly, “apparently he has a weapon, so they’ve told me. And this time as it seems it is something to be afraid of, knowing him. He has grown rather impatient with Japan.”

“Who told you that?” Tolys asked, curious to know where Ivan had gotten such information and what exactly he could mean by it. It couldn’t have been a new model of tank or rifle he spoke so warily of.

“Men of ours working there with his, spies,” Ivan clarified, “But, Tolys, this is just between us. In fact, out of all my closer subordinates I trust only you with this, for some reason. Whoever could you even tell…”

Before Tolys could ask anything more, though he didn’t want to dig deeper into Russia’s affairs with America, Ivan told him where and when to get food.

The next day Ivan was already gone and it would take Tolys a good amount of time to understand the severity of the information he had shared with him. He hadn’t had time to think about it either, he had been given enough duties to see through until Ivan’s return.

A week passed and still, there was no word of Ivan from Potsdam and the next the only thing he received was a telegram notifying him that Feliks would be arriving by the end of the week. The last time Tolys had seen him had been just after the uprising and he had had only a handful of days to nurse him back to relative health before Ivan dragged him along on a march towards Berlin. Knowing that this time their meeting would be with Poland in somewhat of a healthy shape made Lithuania perk up and expect him.

Even though Ivan returned before Poland was to arrive, he didn’t stop him or ask to come when Tolys left to pick up Feliks. He spent almost half a day crossing the entirety of what was left of Alexanderplatz, smoking handmade cigarettes and from time to time practising his English by starting small talk with the British and American soldiers that would come to ask him for tobacco.

When a car finally did arrive, Tolys was surprised to see Poland himself driving it. He put out his cigarette in the sole of his boot before putting away what was left of it in the box and going to greet him.

Feliks was quite apparently a very inexperienced driver and he stopped the car without caring if he had parked it sideways or straight. The only thing he was mindful of was the mounds of rubble but he would’ve driven over those too if there was no other way.

There were other people with him but Lithuania was sure neither of them was a lawyer or representative of his government. One was too young to be anything more than a companion and the other, as he later learned, was a minor military figure who apparently knew English and Russian and had been handy when explaining their reason for travel. Both of them would be driving back the next day and Tolys supposed Feliks would be going back to Warsaw with him and Ivan when the trial was over.

The Pole jumped out of the car and excitedly ran for Lithuania when he saw him. He looked far better than he did when Tolys left him last and he embraced him tightly, showing that Feliks too was happy to see him.

The twentieth century had caught both of them somewhat off guard. Both had said and done things they had regretted after and perhaps Lithuania’s sudden wave of nationalism hadn’t been much to Poland’s liking when it put the barrier between them for good. But even Feliks’ sudden violent change of character and the horrible way he had betrayed Tolys couldn’t erase the history they shared, neither could the hostility Lithuania had treated him within the years leading to the war and then for a time after that. When Ivan had told him just before the last German troop was pushed back outside of the Soviet borders that their next target was Warsaw and when he had managed to hug Feliks, to finally know for sure that he was still amongst them and hadn't yet disappeared, Lithuania had felt nothing but relief. Relief and joy that they had made it through another war.

Since those few days in Warsaw, their personal relationship, excluding diplomacy and politics, saw somewhat of positive improvement. They had matters of their own to handle too and Feliks himself had told Tolys that it would be best for them to remain apart for good. Tolys wasn’t surprised that Poland had gotten used to fighting for himself alone, by himself and on his own terms. He only wished he would be smart about it.

“I’m so glad to see you’re alive!” Feliks cried, giving Tolys only enough space to look him up and down, as if he could hardly believe it was him, before pulling him in another hug. “And you don’t even have a scratch on you, I’m glad.”

“You look good yourself,” Tolys said. “How are you feeling? Have you been having what to eat and a place to stay?”

Feliks told him all about the last few weeks and he introduced him to his two companions before starting to talk again. Apparently they were still in the process of cleaning up the damage, he considered it a victory to be out of the war for good though.

“Ivan’s been sending me letters after you left,” he told Tolys nonchalantly, “but I’ve forgotten how to read Cyrillic so I didn’t write him back.”

“Didn’t anyone offer to pick you up from Warsaw and drive you here?” Lithuania asked, surprised to learn that it was Poland’s first time actually driving a car on such a long trip. Feliks had been excited to tell him that he had learned how to drive a tank somewhat too, his next goal being to pilot a plane.

“I rode the train to the nearest stop I could get to,” Feliks explained, “then I met pan Leszek and he offered us his car to here. I don’t know, why would I ask anyone to get me from Warsaw? I would’ve said no if anyone had asked anyway. Maybe Ivan’s been offering me though, but I wouldn’t know…”

They each had another cigarette over a conversation that didn’t include politics – Feliks’s two friends, the man who had offered him his car and the younger boy who he had fought within Warsaw, were reluctant to discuss it out of politeness considering they knew of their occupation. Then Feliks asked Tolys to tell them where to go spent the night, took his bag from the back seat while he explained, and the two were left alone.

“I brought you a present,” he said smugly, opening his backpack and moving around the little clothes he had brought along to show him a bottle of something hidden underneath, “I thought that we could celebrate! We couldn’t last time and you left so quickly, you missed it!”

“I think we’ll have enough time to celebrate,” Lithuania laughed.

“What are you talking about? What better time and place than here and now! Just look how beautiful Berlin has gotten!”

“Don’t be cynical, Poland…”

“Of course I’m not! Tell me something, Liet, Russia and England are here, right?”

“Yes, of course,” Tolys replied, looking over at his friend, “why?”

“And are they holding them here?” Feliks dodged the question with another, “The Germans?”

Lithuania frowned, “Yes, why would you ask?”

“It doesn’t matter much…I was thinking of paying them a visit.”

“Nobody’s going to let you.” Lithuania told him sternly, “I wouldn’t let you.”

“Russia would.” Feliks shot back, disregarding Tolys completely.

Lithuania wouldn’t say he liked that nonchalant tone of voice and he wasn’t sure he had ever seen Feliks so composed and consistent in his actions. And it bothered him that Poland appeared so ready to trust Russia of all people and use his name as an excuse. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to risk losing touch with Poland now over a minor subject such as Ivan’s hand in things. Whatever Feliks’ plans were for his internal and external politics, Tolys had no reason to intervene.

“Let’s not talk about that right now.” He said, trying to smile. They had been having such a nice conversation. “We’re almost there and it’s about time they start handing out the rations. You must be hungry already, so I’ll just show you where we’ll be sleeping and…”

“I have to go talk to England and Russia first,” Poland interrupted him. Lithuania wanted to ask if he would like to be there with him to at least translate, considering Feliks wasn’t fluent in either English or Russian, but he decided that if he was so stubbornly insisting on talking with them it would be about something that he wouldn’t want anyone but them knowing. Otherwise, he would have already asked Lithuania to be there.

“Okay, then,” Tolys nodded, “then I’ll show you to England’s office, he’ll probably let Mr Russia know you’re here too. Do you want me to wait for you?”

“I think we’ll talk a lot, so no.” Feliks declined, “Just take the bag, I’ll ask Ivan where to find you later. We won’t be sharing a room with Belarus and Ukraine, right…?”

Tolys almost laughed, “Of course not!”

“Well that’s a relief…” Feliks sighed. They had just neared what was Arthur’s office when he handed Tolys his backpack and as he was about to reach inside the pocket of his uniform shirt the door opened.

“I thought I heard a familiar voice,” Russia exclaimed, stepping halfway into the hall. “Here he is, I’m glad to see you, Feliks!”

“Well, I am happy too,” Poland replied, not as enthusiastically as Ivan and in horribly accented Russian, so much so that Lithuania was sure he was overreacting it on purpose. Then he turned to Tolys again in Polish, “We’ll see each other later.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Feliks headed for the door Ivan held open for him. Tolys watched him pull on the red and white armband he had taken out of his breast pocket before walking in and he even lingered to see if Russia would say anything about it. Of course, he didn’t, so as soon as the door closed, he left, wondering if Poland would ever tell him what they had discussed that day.

The room was significantly fuller for the second meeting than it had been during the opening of the trial. Croatia and Greece sat in the back along with a few other Balkan states that had suffered partially due to attacks from Italy and later German and Bulgarian troops. On the right side of the room just next to Finland sat Denmark and Norway who hadn’t managed to maintain their neutrality and they were the only Nordics present. The newer faces on the left side of the room were just a few – only Estonia had been called to assist Russia in whatever way while Latvia had been ordered to stay in Moscow. Ukraine was also there.

Just before the meeting could begin, Arthur was called to the phone. That sudden absence halted the process by a few minutes and left a few of them wondering what had been so urgent to demand his immediate attention. It also gave others enough time for last-minute instructions; that mostly included Russia informing the Baltics, his sisters and Romania, quite sternly, that he would prefer it if they didn’t cause any scenes during the process. Whatever he had told Poland in private must have been enough to make him rely that he wouldn’t either, without direct warning. Czech and Slovakia had welcomed him mostly as a liberator and Bulgaria was in a position where he wouldn't risk losing Russia as his ally, aside from having nothing but warm and nostalgic feelings for Ivan.

Feliciano and Lovino had already walked in and had taken their respective seats in the front of the room. The only somewhat late had been Hungary, who ran in just a few minutes before Arthur’s return. His face was noticeably reddened, as if he had been in a rather heated argument, and he loosened his tie while on his way towards the table of the Allies. In a quiet tone, he informed France and Russia of something before sitting down.

Only a moment after England came in, the room became suddenly silent. Somebody else had entered but it couldn’t have been Germany or Prussia, or Mr Austria, Arthur would have called them in if it were them. Noticing how the attention had suddenly shifted towards the door, Feliciano couldn’t help but curiously turn to look too, following Lovino’s example. It was no wonder everybody had quieted down so suddenly and he realised why as soon as he saw who had followed Arthur in.

It was America.

The Allies were, as it seemed, the most surprised by Alfred's presence – the rest of them had been expecting him sooner or later. What was worth their attention was America’s silence as he strode in and shut the door. He crossed the room without sparing anyone a glance as if there was nobody else but him there. His uncanny stoicism was similar to a storm cloud about to pass.

“If you would please, Mr Kirkland,” he said, standing beside Arthur and not minding the volume of his voice, “I think you’re in my seat.”

Though visibly bitter, Arthur bit his lip and quietly let Alfred have his chair. With that arrangement, America now sat almost in the middle of the table, facing everybody.

“Well, hello, everyone,” he finally greeted, smiling not so much as brightly and enthusiastically, but rather tiredly, “I’m seeing we’re all mostly here. Is there anyone we’re waiting for, there are a few empty chairs.”

“Sweden, Spain and Switzerland won’t be coming, considering their neutrality,” Arthur informed him, fixing his tie, “a handful of others have excused themselves due to other reasons, I’ll give you a list.”

“Okay then, since we’re not waiting for anyone, I want to start by saying something very important. Something we’ve been waiting to hear for a very long time. Today, taking full responsibility for my statement, I declare the war over. Not just in Europe, but worldwide.”

The boldness he spoke with and the calmness of his tone outraged Arthur, confused the majority of them while the rest had expected such a brave declaration come from America of all people; sitting on his left, only Russia had perked up, waiting in tension to hear a follow-up of Alfred’s words.

“That said,” he continued, “let’s start. Oh, can anyone closer to the door tell the soldiers to bring in the defendants? Finland?”

Alfred treated the situation with nonchalance Arthur hadn’t shown during the first hearing, a certain carelessness that was almost frightening and a superiority that seemed out of the question. They hadn’t gathered to worship the winners or let them parade with their victory and make a mockery of the sides that had suffered the most. If America had had in mind to act unprofessionally with the purpose of calming himself and them, it had an almost opposite effect.

One thing was certain, there was a great change in him, in the way he looked and spoked and in the way he carried himself. People like Tolys, who had had the chance to know him in the twenties, long before the war and before Alfred even began to have it hard, could easily notice it. The young man, youngest out of all of them actually, who had believed in nothing but the best for his own people and those of others so strongly that it bordered naivety was now marred with cynicism, harshness and all the after-shocks of the war. Whatever could he have seen to create such a drastic and horrible change of personality?

Lithuania remembered his unfortunate conversation with Russia. Alfred had been growing impatient with Japan apparently but what did that mean exactly?

Finland quickly hopped to his feet and went to open the door and let the guards know they were ready to begin.

“The weather is really nice this summer,” he said, walking back to his seat, “America it’s so nice to see you in Europe! Maybe we can take you sightseeing after…”

“I already saw enough of Europe,” Alfred remarked. “Italy has some of the best beaches, wine and women I’ve seen so far. And I’m already looking forward to a vacation in the Bavarian Alps.”

Arthur seemed to warn him of something quietly while beside Feliciano, Lovino cursed under his breath.

“Mocking us, he’s mocking us,” he muttered, unable to defend them even and that fuelled his irritation and Feliciano’s shame.

They brought Ludwig, Gilbert and Roderick after a handful of minutes and sat them down. America’s presence hardly surprised them, it was to be expected, and it hardly mattered. It didn't change the direction of Gilbert's defence. He wasn’t stupid, he might have been called an animal over the ages more than once despite his holy descent, but if he knew one thing it was that Alfred didn’t have even half the experience he had, in war, in law, in philosophies and history. Bringing in the easily affectable America and even seating him in the middle of the table to lead the trial was a mistake in his eyes, no matter how much Alfred had grown or how educated he had become.

What managed to shake him, however, was Poland and the smugness he stared at him while they led them to the front of the room. It was like seeing a ghost, one Gilbert didn’t want to face anymore, and he couldn’t rid himself of the shivers running down his spine, couldn’t wipe the cold sweat off his neck fast enough. He was sure now that the trial would take an unwanted turn.

In court and in law, as it seemed to be a rule, anyone could get what they wanted and could predict a favourable outcome as long as they were smart and knew the system well. And Poland had been the first to even think of creating a constitution. Despite the impression he gave, he knew his way around the system and just as Gilbert had entered knowing he would get off the hook with nothing but minor scratches, Feliks had walked in ready to destroy him.

They started from the point they had discussed last, without any dramatic outbursts or unnecessary emotions. Alfred made Germany speak this time and explain to him his movement during the war, evaluating in the meantime, quite discreetly, his position on the matter of politics.

“We never fully approved of certain things,” Ludwig said when Alfred prompted him, “but it was a matter of following orders. We’re only as good as the mass vote and the masses voted positively. Intervention wasn’t possible.”

“Was there any moment where you felt threatened by your own government?” Alfred asked, halting Gilbert immediately after he opened his mouth to answer, “If we have to be clear, there’s only one true defendant here today and that’s Germany. Prussia, as far as I know, has been losing his influence in the country’s political decisions following your unification, so I would really like it if you let Germany defend himself.”

“We didn’t know what would happen if we said no to an order,” Ludwig admitted, hoping to stop his brother from making a comeback. “We…My brother, for example, had a very different outlook on politics before the thirties and Austria wasn’t a willing accomplice in anything, at any point. What I mean to say is…we did what we did out of a sense of necessity and…”

“Did you feel prideful with your victories? You mean to tell us that you were unhappy with your regained economic stability?”

Roderick shot Gilbert a quick, worried glance while Ludwig tried to explain his feelings considering their advances during the war.

“He’s leading him on,” he mouthed, visibly nervous. Gilbert only mutely shook his head, signalling for him to keep quiet and wait. He understood what Alfred was doing, he was exploiting Ludwig’s guilty conscience, making him stumble over himself. Of course, they had celebrated. There was nothing wrong in celebrating military successes and that wasn’t the point of the trial.

“Permission to speak?” Gilbert asked, looking angrily at America. He could barely believe how quickly he had grown after leaving Arthur’s side and it hurt his pride to be tried by an ex-colony when he could still remember the days his own men had to train Alfred’s to make sure that now they stood on opposite sides. Life surely was peculiar.

“Do you have anything to add?”

“I have a point to make. You say that this is a trial against Ludwig, against Germany, then I want to know why Italy is here being tried along with us? And if the answer to that is the military pact, I think it’s a well-known fact that the Axis weren’t just a three-sided coalition. Why isn’t Hungary here in the front? Why is Croatia sitting all the way in the back? Should I really keep on pointing out names or should I start naming crimes instead, since we appear to be in the middle of a process meant to punish those who willingly took part in the war…”

“Prussia, please don’t try to pass your own guilt onto the people you forced into being on your side,” Russia politely asked of him. “Whatever there is to know about the condition of your allies is known.”

“What I am trying to say is,” Gilbert continued, despite the obvious warning, “if we are to be politically correct, this trial should be led in a different form.”

“We discussed this during the previous hearing,” Arthur nearly exclaimed, fearing another outraged uproar.

“And I still received no adequate answer why the very willing allies of our side who committed just as many crimes against their neighbouring nations aren’t being triad along with us.”

“You are in no position to be demanding anything of us!”

“Okay,” Alfred disturbed the hostile exchange before Arthur could say anything more, “is this your entire concern? The political correctness of your trial?”

Gilbert replied positively.

“So be it then. If we’re going to be making claims, I like to hear your accusations. Tell us who should be tried along with you today and we’ll let them speak.”

Gilbert inhaled; he’d have to be careful now. The last thing on his mind was to intentionally stall the hearing, what he wanted was to prove that though guilty of compliance, they weren’t the only ones that deserved to have the finger pointed at. That way at least, no matter the final verdict, he would at least secure himself and Ludwig a quick recovery and possible positive diplomatic connections in the future. People would have to forgive them one day but they would also need to have a reason to do it.

And that reason would be their own involvement or lack of thereof.

“Well,” he said, “that’s too much freedom you’re giving me. Fine then. If it isn’t too much of a problem, Lithuania can stand up first.”

“What?” Tolys exclaimed from the back of the room, looking at Gilbert before shifting his eyes to Russia. Ivan, for the second time that day, seemed genuinely surprised by what he had heard. And he wasn’t the only one – for a brief moment Alfred too seemed to lose his composure, unsure what Lithuania of all people had to do with anything, while Feliks, who sat on Tolys’ right, glared at Prussia bitterly, knowing already just what he would try to do.

“Are you going to explain yourself or should I?” Gilbert said, looking at Tolys. His face lacked any noticeable change of expression but his eyes were smug, so smug in fact that they nearly made Lithuania lose his temper.

“Following the German invasion of the Soviet Union,” Ivan explained slowly, addressing Alfred in particular rather than the rest of them who probably knew enough to see where Gilbert’s defence was going, “the Lithuanian government allowed German troops to aid them in pushing my own out of their borders. The partisan movements aided Nazi units and later when we started advancing they fought with them. Is that the point you’re trying to make, Prussia?”

“Not only. And because apparently there are some doubts on the matter of our involvement, Lithuania, were _you_ aware that your government and military command were actively involved in the extermination of your Jewish population?”

“I don’t think you’re the person to be accusing me of such a thing.” Tolys shot back. Only when America asked the same question and let him know that he was not being directly accused as a criminal he said, “I wasn’t fully aware of the extend of my people’s actions, no.”

“Were you active in enabling German troops’ operations against your minorities, Polish and Russian partisan organisations?”

“I was…But that hardly has anything to do with my political position.”

“And it is true that you willingly accepted German occupation?”

“I did.”

“Why?”

Tolys hesitated; such a thing was so painful to speak of, especially in front of Feliks, even more so in front of Ivan.

“We had a deal,” he said, looking at Prussia, his eyes hiding a desperate plea for him to stop with the questions.

Gilbert didn’t force him to explain but anyone with enough common sense would understand what that deal had included. German troops during their occupation hadn’t been as hostile towards Lithuanians, observing passively as they tried to reverse whatever damage the Soviets had done during their presence in the country. There hadn't been a reason for hostility – Germany, no, _Prussia_ , had crossed the Lithuanian border with the confidence of a liberator and he had been accepted as such. He had been welcomed as a hero into the grounds the ancestors of the people that had celebrated him had fought him out of once. That little step forward had actually made him quite happy, it had pleased him enough that he shook Lithuania’s hand when they met in Vilnius and he had, bad blood aside, been the first to propose the organisation of a separate Lithuanian government.

He had given Tolys a German grammar textbook and a dictionary and that had been it. They had sat back, drinking their tea in their respective offices in the city Tolys had made sure for ages Gilbert never set foot in while their people acted together against what seemed to be a shared enemy.

Lithuania only had documentation and one lengthy report to reference when explaining his reasons and the more he spoke the quicker he realised that Prussia had succeeded in one thing – he hadn’t only reminded Russia of his betrayal, leaving him without a back to hide behind, but he had also reminded Poland of how many times he had sold his people out to the Germans, delaying his independence. He was ripping apart the cover that had fallen over the east of Europe by using the holes already there.

“If we can say that Lithuania didn’t know of the extent of his people’s involvement in active genocide,” Gilbert said, to summarize, “and if his words are deemed believable, then I see no reason that my brother doesn’t deserve to be believed when he says that we were kept away from certain parts of our government's work.”

“Anything else you’d like to add on that account?” Alfred said, unimpressed by Gilbert’s futile attempts to escape conviction on account of their many willing and unwilling subordinates.

“I want a detailed account of Romania’s involvement,” Gilbert announced and this time the shock wasn’t as great as it had been when he had called for Lithuania to stand up. In fact, only Romania seemed appalled by the thought of defending himself, considering Russia had specifically warned him to be careful what he said and the Allies’ promise that he wouldn’t be prosecuted as severely as Germany.

But Romania, due to turmoil in his country prior to the war, his horrible conflict with Hungary and other political reasons had been on Axis side since the beginning of the war. He had also been with Gilbert during the battles and occupation campaigns on the East front and he had, on a personal level, naively believed in their camaraderie. With that in mind, Russia had treated him the same as he had the fascists. Gilbert might have been doing himself good by mentioning his hand in the sieges of numerous Soviet towns and cities but he was playing one very bad trick on Romania’s otherwise unstable position.

“Can I speak on behalf of myself and Vladimir, please?” Bulgaria stood up suddenly, noticing that even if he wanted Romania wouldn’t be able to give any formal explanation about his pre-war and later decisions.

“Do speak on _your_ behalf,” Arthur advised sharply, “and if Romania has anything to add, let him do so himself.”

“If what Prussia wants to do is prove a point,” Aleksander said, “then he’s doing a great job. We aren’t here to excuse ourselves and the reason why Romania won’t add anything by himself is that all of us are ashamed. Is that what you want to hear? Yes, we complied with everything Germany wanted of us without resistance but so did a lot of other people, are you going to prosecute all of Europe? And I want to know, if the oppressor comes to your door with army and resources greater than yours and gives you an ultimatum, is there a right thing to do? And what you seem to be forgetting is that Romania and I haven’t been home in months, fighting in Hungary and Serbia and aiding Soviet troops! If you want to, we’ll sit in the front behind Germany. But I don’t think this is the time for it…”

He looked at Gilbert, apologetic but firm and confident, before sitting back down. If they called him wrong, then that would mean that for the remainder of the hearing they would have to force all of those who had been occupied by German forces to answer for crimes they had been unwilling accomplices in.

Romania’s excuse was that he had been confused regarding his position following the change in the political climate in his country. His compliance with Prussia when he had come to negotiate with him had been a result of his fear that following a loss were they to go to war he would lose the territories he had fought over with Hungary, something he wasn’t ever going to allow. Concerning the deportations and oppression directed against his Jewish and Roma population, he claimed he hadn’t voted positively when the changes in the laws regarding the minorities were issued and there was documental proof of that.

Gilbert was given the word again. This time he wondered if it was worth questioning any more of their Eastern-European allies considering that Russia would find a way to excuse them now that they were in Soviet borders. And he couldn’t expect Ivan to support any decisions against his territories of interest if he wanted their support in turn. Gilbert was well-aware of that tactic, he had used it to separate, although formally, Czech and Slovakia by giving Hedvika’s doormat of a man his bachelor status back.

He would’ve made Bulgaria speak but he knew him personally and was sure that he would find a way to turn things around and against him. They had met in courtrooms more times than they had for beer and that wasn’t a relationship Gilbert enjoyed. So instead of exploiting the grudge Arthur and Aleksander had, he used something else in his favour.

It seemed for a moment that he would turn towards Hungary, in which case Erzsebet wouldn’t have complained and would have defended herself accordingly. But Gilbert didn’t, instead, he looked over his shoulder again towards the back of the room where Croatia sat at one side of a long table and Greece, Bosnia and Slovenia almost all the way at the other. Serbia hadn’t come as a form of demonstration.

The moment Prussia’s eyes landed on him, Croatia knew that it was his turn to stand. Out of all Balkan nations, he was the only one that had been made to attend and he was treated with the same amount of hostility as Feliciano and Lovino were – he wasn’t officially a prisoner of war but after Germany, Italy and Hungary he was the one charged with the most war-related crimes. And unlike Gilbert and Ludwig, Croatia couldn’t even claim that he had been unaware of his government’s decisions.

That had to be the worst part, he couldn’t lie. He had known of his government’s plans while Pavelić had been prime minister and he had supported everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Background (information taken primarily from Wikipedia and Youtube):  
> *The Pacific front - better said the Pacific war was the largest theatre of war at the time. It included Japan's war with China, later with Russia as well. The quick succession of the imperial army soon led to memorial events such as the attack on Pearl Harbor and plans for an attack on Australia. In the very final days of the war, the Allies were concerned primarily with forcing Japan to surrender while Japan, on the other hand, stalled its capitulation just as stubbornly. Considering the fandom's love for AmeriPan, I thought it wouldn't hurt to explore a different side to that relationship.  
> *Mr America's secret weapon - that thing Russia mentions to Lithuania is, as you probably guessed yourselves, the American possession of the experimental nuclear weapon that would force Japan into surrendering. Apparently the Russian government had heard of its existence through spies and weren't surprised when the Americans dropped hints of it during the Potsdam conference.  
> *The uprising - the uprising Lithuania mentions while thinking of his relationship with Poland refers to the Warsaw uprising where the Polish partisan movement organised against the Germans in Warsaw. Originally meant to last no more than a handful of days, the uprising continued with devastating results for both the city and the Polish forces until the waiting Russian military decided to cross the Vistula and offer support. You can watch an amazing movie dedicated to it - "Miasto 44", it's truly fantastic and gives an amazing insight of what was going on in occupied Warsaw at the times.  
> *Lithuanian-German relations during the occupation - a quick looking into the matter told me than in summary the Lithuanians welcomed the Germans as liberators, as we probably already know. They were able to make something of a government and active military which aided the Germans in their fights against the Russians, actively took part in the Holocaust and partook in skirmishes with the Polish and Russian partisans in the country. At that point, however, if we consider Lithuania's feelings, he would've seen Germany and de facto Prussia as lesser threats than Russia.  
> *The Romanian army - it's debatable whether the Romanian army was the second biggest army during the war to fight on Axis side. Probably not but Romania did deploy the most men to fight with the Germans in Russia after Germany. In Hetalia headcanon I would say that Romania would have been almost too trusting of Prussia after the German government helped settle the conflict he had with Hungary over Transylvania. When the tables turned and the Russian military began its advance, Russian soldiers treated the Romanian civilians as savagely as they did their German enemies as opposed to the Bulgarians who they saw as a brotherly nation. From here comes Russia's general hostility towards Romania at this point in time.  
> *Fascists - at that time it seemed that there was no clear difference between the nazis and fascists in Russia, so when referring to the Germans, the Russian army spoke of them as fascist. You'll see this in many Russian war movies, books and accounts.  
> *See you in court - when Prussia thinks about seeing Bulgaria more times in court than in any other setting he has in mind the trial following the Reichstag fire where Bulgarian members of the Comintern were tried and acquitted. This will be mentioned again in the next chapter briefly but I think the process was generally very interesting and I might write something short about it. It would've been very dramatic for both Germany and Prussia as it happened just before the unification and the blame was put on the communist party, thus aiding the change in Prussia's government.  
> *A bachelor card - the German government prior to the invasion of Czech offered Slovakia independence as a country if they complied with them. That's the reason Czech and Slovakia by this point aren't very happy with each other, given that Slovakia made friends with the invader rather than suffer the situation Czech did. Hetalia wise, I find this small historical detail to speak of Slovakia's huge naivety rather than of him being morally bad.  
> *Ante Pavelić - something people don't usually explore because the character is still an OC and not official is Croatia's involvement in the war. At that time Croatia, with Bosnia and Herzegovina in its borders, would have been a satellite state to Nazi Germany and to some extent Fascist Italy. Pavelić's regime would prove to be one of the cruellest ones during the war.  
> ( Excuse me for any historical inaccuracies and please point them out so I can change them! c: See you in the next chapter <3 )


	3. Vremya Gilberta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, guys, I'm so sorry this came in later than I said, I've been somewhat stressed over my exams. So I don't really have chapter four ready and this one went through a bunch of changes before getting to this version, I really hope you enjoy it! <3 Thank you a lot for the very pure and nice recognition this fic is getting, I'm loving it! c: As always, polite critique is very appreciated, point out any historical mistakes so I can look up the information better, I'm mostly going on memory with a bit of added research here and there. There will be some things to point out in this chapter in terms of history, so check the endnotes for those :))

Dražen had welcomed Ludwig to Zagreb with the love he would’ve welcomed a brother or a very close friend. Such happiness would’ve been very hard to manufacture but nevertheless, Ludwig was wary. He shook Croatia’s hand with much less enthusiasm but that didn’t appear to make an impression.

“I have been hearing some quite…worrisome things concerning your recent actions,” Ludwig said while the two were being escorted to the car, choosing his words carefully.

“What actions?” Dražen looked at him, bug-eyed. “Actions that we haven’t taken, you mean?”

“Actions that you have taken and have been taking progressively until now,” Germany corrected him. “I think the details are something to be discussed in private but I have been told to take measures while it’s still early enough to.”

“But then tell me, where did you hear such information from? If you’re not content with something I’ve done, tell me and I’ll fix it…”

“I was told by Himmler. And he, in turn, learned from a very reliable source that you’ve been doing the things we encouraged you to a little too well.”

Dražen blinked at him, silenced by his confusion and surprise. He seemed to not understand at all and Ludwig found himself stunned and at the same time heavily worried that Croatia wouldn’t be able to understand him even if he spoke clearer, if only because he had lost the ability to tell the difference between right and wrong.

Concerning the situation in Croatia, Ludwig had spoken to Gilbert when the first reports started coming, warning them of the dangers their affiliation to the Croatian government could cause in the future. Gilbert had listened to him carefully, feeling his own skin crawl as his brother spared not a single detail of all that was going on over there.

“They say it’s not advised to take action at the moment,” Ludwig had said. “But what should I do then?”

“Take immediate action, of course!” Gilbert had exclaimed. “In the name of Christ, has that boy gone mad?!”

“I fear that the man they call _Poglavnik_ has brainwashed him already. He seems to be a stubborn supporter of his current government. I tried warning him…”

“Then try harder! Listen, Ludwig. If you let that dog go out of control, he won’t listen to you when you need him to. Humble him. Or else you’ll be the one answering for his mistakes in no time!”

Ludwig had felt inspired after that conversation. He had gone to Zagreb with the thought of humbling Croatia, to let him know his behaviour and that of his government was in no way acceptable.

“I agree, Ludwig,” Dražen told him when he had explained his fears and the concerns of his officials. “And I promise you that from now on, we will try to only act in the sphere of what’s accepted.”

“I really hope you do,” Ludwig said and he counted on the Croat’s word. Whether Dražen had fully agreed with him was, of course, debatable, though it was just a few months later that his government finally decided to settle the Croatian question in favour of Germany. Whatever Dražen had thought of that intervention, Ludwig couldn’t know either, but he was quite happy that he didn’t have to meet him in person again. It appeared that the opposite had happened – instead of humbling Croatia, Germany himself had been humbled by the bloodthirsty potential of his puppet state.

Out of the whole Balkans, only Dražen had been called to the trial in Berlin by an official letter. By that time Bulgaria and Romania had already been ‘liberated’ by Soviet troops and the Allies had pushed the Germans out of Greece, making their way with Bulgarian forces through Serbia and to Budapest.

After Italy’s surrender, Dražen had kept sending frantic letters to Ludwig instead, stubbornly delaying the inevitable. Executions and trials no longer had the power to keep the masses under control with the approach of the Soviets. He had tried to negotiate with Britain but that short correspondence had ended with Arthur calling him to Berlin as soon as the trial was scheduled.

There he had been escorted by British troops to Arthur who, in a manner similar to that with which he had welcomed Feliciano and Lovino, made him write and sign a report of his personal movement during the war. He reminded him to be as detailed as possible in his account and Dražen had shamefully complied, writing down everything he knew and everything he had only heard of.

“It was good tasting independence,” he told Aleksander soon after that meeting. Though he had accepted his defeat, what scared Croatia was the possibility of Yugoslavia’s rebirth. Not only would he again be forced to answer to Serbia but after he took part in the crimes against his people, he wasn’t sure how their union would ever be able to work the same way.

Bulgaria merely sighed, just as accepting of the consequences as him. There was a difference between them of course – Aleksander had joined sides with Russia the moment the Soviet invasion over the Danube had become inevitable. Dražen had waited until the very end, considering every possibility before conceding to contact England. He had also taken quick action against his minorities and ethnic Serbs in his borders without the need to be prompted by either Italy or Germany while Aleksander had had to be pressured more than once before agreeing to the deportations. Croatia's reputation had crumbled to nothing over the past few years, replaced by a thick layer of inhumane crimes he would undoubtedly have to answer for.

“It was obvious,” Bulgaria shrugged, “so what does it matter? What’s most important is that we got a taste of it.”

“Do you think things were easier back when Turkey was still a big thing? When we didn't even have to think at all...”

“Things are always easy. We do what we have to, to get what we want. The problem is that we’ve only been having bad options to choose from these past few years.”

“What are we going to do now?” Dražen asked him, taking the cigarette Aleksander had offered him.

“Whatever Ivan says,” Bulgaria replied with just as much nonchalance as before and it actually irritated Croatia to listen to him speak so casually of the possibility of another occupation. But, he guessed, being a state of the Soviet Union, where he could still rely on stable economic relations and Russia’s partnership while keeping a sense of independence, was still much better than being made a fool of by Serbia.

“I’m actually looking forward to it,” Aleksander admitted. “I have a good feeling. Or even if something bad happens, I won’t put it to heart. Too many bad things happened already, what’s a few more.”

The Balkan wars, losing Macedonia, Romania’s betrayal and their conflict over Dobrudzha – it seemed that the twentieth century had been a chain of disappointments for Aleksander just as it seemed to have been for Dražen. If he liked to think that Russia would have his back again then why bother explaining to him that a new occupier replacing the last one wouldn’t necessarily mean something better. He supposed though that Aleksander had a reason to think so, Ivan did have a soft side for him, he would have towards the person that had taught him how to write and read.

But with how the Yugoslav partisans were taking control steadily, Dražen would be shaking Serbia’s hand again in no time.

“Is it too late for you to say a good word about me to Ivanko?”

Aleksander laughed merrily, “I can barely get myself off that hook, you want me to speak for you!”

Croatia sighed; it had been worth the try.

“Do you think they’ll ever take us to court?”

“For them, the greatest punishment would be leaving us to Ivan. You, on the other side…”

“They’ll let the Serbian communists chew me, of course!” Croatia exclaimed, “Just you watch. You’ll be hearing about Tito like he’s God himself in no time!”

“You know stars like that come and go,” Bulgaria declared confidently.

“Where’s your guarantee that this one won’t burn for longer?”

“You know what I say – garancja, Francja.”

“What does that even mean?” Dražen laughed this time, somewhat entertained by Bulgaria’s careless attitude. He had never known him to be such, though before finding himself on the same side as him, Croatia had heard only rumours from Serbia and he had never been a reliable source, especially where it concerned Aleksander.

“Go look for your guarantee in France! Said another way – don’t expect it. Everything will be just fine by Christmas. I spent my birthday in Hungary this year, you know…Oh, I do hope I can celebrate it next year, I’m already excited.”

Dražen barely listened after that, watching as his cigarette slowly burned out in his hand.

In his case, he would have to look for guarantees at England’s but he had a hunch that wouldn’t turn out in his favour. The question was whether Europe would benefit from the existence of Yugoslavia now or not, would they allow it or not.

Croatia hoped not. Garancja, Francja.

He thought of that when Gilbert made him stand up during the hearing. Bosnia wouldn’t help him, despite being in his entirety a part of Croatia still. Dražen had approved of the acts against Bosnian Muslims with the same ease he had approved of the genocide of Serbia’s people. Slovenia had stopped speaking to him as soon as he had learned of the ways Dražen was preparing to secure his independence as a country and had until then ignored him stubbornly. Croatia would rather have him hate him, that would be much easier and far less dramatic.

“I documented and presented my movement during the war,” he declared. “Everything I had to say about my decisions is written there.”

“Were you a willing accomplice to your regime?” Gilbert asked him and Croatia, of course, nodded. “Were you forced by either Germany or Italy?”

“We were on good diplomatic terms with both sides. My politicians were, of course, influenced, but we took our decisions separately and sometimes had to be reminded what was important and what out of the war’s objective.”

“And what was your personal objective?”

“We were promised an independent state and a clean and homogeneous Croatian society. That was to be achieved through deportations and extermination of all religious and racial minorities other than ethnic Croatians.”

“Did you approve of and supported your government’s crimes?”

Dražen swallowed thickly, “I did. I had no reason not to, considering the importance of the end, the means appeared justified. The German government did, of course, intervene at some point…” Almost as an afterthought before sitting down, he added, “I’m really sorry, I really am.”

Prussia had no more questions. He had made Croatia stand merely to prove another point - if they were to stand trial, what measures would they take against the rest of the criminals? What about the Croatian regime that had been so wild and monstrous that Ludwig had been warned many times by their superiors to not take action in fear of those crimes being associated with them? What about Erzsebet who had engaged in what his own men had referred to as murder tourism the moment she entered the war on Axis side? The Nazi and Fascist crimes, though shocking and unacceptable, were merely the tip of the iceberg in a war that could've easily demolished the laws of their society as they had built them.

“I have nothing more to say,” Gilbert announced, taking his seat again.

Unsure of how to even continue the hearing, Arthur asked Alfred if it would be best to call a short break. Nobody disagreed.

Ludwig had asked Gilbert to attend the meeting in his place just a week before he was scheduled to leave for Leningrad. Gilbert had thought that maybe his brother felt insecure in his abilities to negotiate with Russia and believed that, given their shared history, Ivan would feel more inclined to agree to their terms if it was Gilbert proposing them. With that in mind, Prussia had agreed rather quickly, entertained that Ludwig who had started to regain back some of his confidence and had even begun to boss him around a bit still appeared to be intimidated by certain things when it came to foreign politic.

Later he found out that Ludwig hadn't been that afraid of negotiating with Ivan – the reason they had trusted Gilbert with it instead had been a bit different. After years of authoritarianism, Gilbert's government was suddenly in the hands of the Social Democrats and a coalition that saw both the Nazi party and the communists as the opposition. When the chance to negotiate peace with the Soviet Union was offered to them, Gilbert's short-lived though passionate interest in Marxism had been seen as useful. 

He had expected the city to shock him with how much it had changed but it didn’t. The buildings that Gilbert remembered from so long ago when he had spent time with Ivan in his palaces, his squares, the beautiful gardens and parks, were still the same as he remembered but it didn’t feel as though the city had, like a time machine, brought him back in time. It filled him with a rather painful feeling of nostalgia – it was proof of how much time had passed since he had last been there.

Their delegation was welcomed warmly and despite having expected him to act reserved and distant, Ivan appeared to be just barely containing his excitement. He walked up to Gilbert and shook his hand, welcoming him in German, much to Prussia’s surprise. He had been preparing himself to lead their meeting in Russian, out of politeness, though certainly, Ivan spoke his language better than Gilbert would ever learn to speak his.

“I was expecting Ludwig!” Ivan exclaimed, leading him towards the cars, “I apologize if I seem too surprised, I am.”

“Ludwig couldn’t make it,” Gilbert said, “but I hope we can get along after all while I’m here.”

“Of course! I am actually glad that you’re here and not him, it's been such a long time since we saw each other. And you already know the city!”

“I’m sure it has changed a lot. I don’t know if I still know it the same way…”

“It hasn’t changed at all.” Ivan assured him, “And once the mandatory part of our meeting is over, I’ll take you to see the palace or the Hermitage.”

They didn’t have time to sightsee and Gilbert saw Peterhof only from a distance before he was made to leave. That was perhaps the last time he ever saw Petersburg – because it only seemed fitting that a city so familiar and such a warm memory keep the name Gilbert had known it with for as long as he could remember his own – during peaceful times.

He would have mentioned Ivan’s involvement in the war but seeing as he was already walking on thin ice, Gilbert decided not to. It wouldn’t matter even if he did. The countries occupied by the Soviets had either welcomed him or would be too afraid to speak up even though they knew of Ivan’s treaties with Ludwig and Gilbert. Poland had fallen into a state of passive-aggressive personal warfare with Russia but, admitting Ivan's superiority in contrast to his unstable position, he wouldn’t agree to make Ivan explain his involvement in his occupation.

Most of all, Gilbert was too proud to accuse Ivan. He was no stranger to playing dirty and using whatever trickery he could to secure his victory but even so, he would never look at Ivan and say that he too had a finger in their crimes and even though he hadn't helped, he hadn't fought to stop them either and had watched passively without ever declaring war until Gilbert did so first. Prussia had betrayed their pact first, he had been the first to show diplomatic incompetency. The only reason he could still so bravely look Ivan in the eye was Gilbert's general lack of shame.

The first time they met in person again after he had disregarded the boundaries of their nonaggression pact, Gilbert had been dragged into an interrogation room. That was a fitting word - dragged, considering Gilbert could hardly feel his legs to stand up on his own and keep whatever dignity he had left. If baring witness to the pile of rubble they had turned Berlin into had managed to devastate Gilbert emotionally then the Russians had managed to make sure he looked as awful as he felt.

He couldn't tell how much time had passed since he had been captured during the battle for the Reichstag, couldn't tell anymore if it were day or night, or what time it was. All Gilbert was aware of, quite subconsciously, it was just a hunch, was that the war was over. They had thrown him in some sort of basement where dirty water dripped down the cold bare walls from the leaking pipes overhead. As his mind bounced between lucidity and unconsciousness, Gilbert could only think one thing - they had to surrender. How would anyone know to stop shooting when they hadn't surrendered yet?

The interrogation room wasn't much different than the one they held him in. A bare lightbulb dangling from the ceiling provided light. The tiled floor was dirty and covered in a variety of stains. There were no windows or proper ventilation - the room smelled of sweat and bile, a strong odour that overwhelmed Gilbert when they pulled him and sat him down on one of the two chairs on either side of a square wooden table. A full ashtray was all that lay in its middle, the damp butts and ash smelling horribly.

Despite the humidity of the room, Gilbert felt as though he was freezing - fever burned his body and left him feverish and delirious. Whatever infection they had let spread into him, it was torturing him slowly, eating him up.

One of the soldiers that had brought him there smacked him around a bit to get Gilbert to pay attention. He stopped only when a third person, someone who must have had authority over them, entered the room. They were ordered to leave and when Gilbert managed to blink away the moisture in his swollen eyes for long enough to focus, he saw Ivan walking around the table and sitting down heavily on the vacant chair opposite of him.

Ivan as silent while Gilbert wheezed, gathering enough strength to only sit up straighter in his chair. He laid something on the table before him - a paper folder. Then Ivan slipped it closer to Gilbert and reached inside his pocket for a cigarette.

"Sign." He ordered when he noticed Gilbert watching him instead of looking down at the folder.

"I don't know...what it is..." Gilbert managed, coughing when Russia lit his cigarette and purposefully blew a stream of smoke in his face. The stench of it nearly made him vomit.

"A testimony," Ivan explained, dropping the matchstick he had used to light his cigarette with in the ashtray. "It's an account of your personal movement during the war. To make it official, you have to sign it. You know, unterschreiben."

Gilbert had understood him just fine.

"I never wrote this," he shook his head. "I won't sign...I have to read first."

"You're really making this more difficult than it has to be," Ivan said, leaning back in his chair. He stared at Gilbert silently for a while then, taking in his pitiful state before a small huff, almost a laugh, passed his lips. "They really did get you good. And we ordered them not to."

"I've had worse..." Gilbert nearly bragged.

"You know," Ivan began, still observing Gilbert while he inhaled another lungful of smoke, "whatever decisions we take, Germany _will_ be broken apart. It would be in nobody’s best interest to allow Ludwig a separate government. As Arthur says – fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…and so on.”

Gilbert said nothing, now avoiding meeting Ivan's eyes. Russia, however, kept jabbing his finger into every fresh wound he could find, merciless and ruthless in a way Gilbert had never seen him before, certainly not before the war. His words were shards of glass, poisonous ants crawling under his skin, digging deep into his flesh where they burned.

“But I’m not here to talk about Ludwig,” Ivan continued, “Let’s not deceive ourselves. There is no question that Ludwig will recover, in ten, twenty, maybe fifty years, but he will. We’re very human in that regard – we forget after a certain amount of time. What I came here for was you and your position, Gilbert. What we’re discussing currently is how much of your territories to return to Poland. You’ll have to give back what you took from Lithuania and Czech too, of course. And after that, there won’t be a way to incorporate Prussia into the new borders of Germany.

“What I want to help you with is remain somewhat independent. Arthur, Alfred and Francis are entitled to portions of west Germany. In any way, its east part should be given as compensation to the Soviet Union. I'm making you an offer, do as we tell you and you'll benefit yourself, your brother and all of your subordinates outside of my control.”

“Why?” Gilbert asked, rather baffled, “Why do something like that for me?”

“I don’t know Ludwig personally. It might sound harsh, but I don’t find myself caring about what happens to him. On the other hand, we’ve known each other for a very long time, Gilbert. Diplomacy and politics aside, despite wanting nothing but the worst for you now, that hardly includes wanting you to…disappear. I might be one of the few that think so, many have the opinion that it’s your time to go.”

“I can’t leave Ludwig…" Gilbert shook his head when the thought of them being separated hit him with all its force, "I still have things I want to do, to show him, to…”

“Don’t you think it’s about time you let him learn on his own and carry his own burden?” Ivan interrupted him, “Let’s be honest, Ludwig acts as though the last war left him devastated. But the greater part of your territorial losses were Prussian territories, weren’t they? And look where we are now. Berlin was your capital, to begin with, and look what Ludwig let happen to it. He said he wanted to unite himself with you again but when he did, did he consider the fact that you were economically stable, that you were happy with being on your own? I know what it is like, to feel fondness towards a sibling. But there are times when you can’t risk your own position for another’s mistakes. How much longer will you let Ludwig hold onto your hand?”

“Would you speak the same way if it were Belarus?”

“Unlike your Ludwig, I think Natasha and I were raised better than to think that we can make whatever mistakes we want and expect the other to miraculously fix them. If you had raised Ludwig that way, you wouldn’t be in this position.”

Gilbert knew so but Ludwig, Germany, wasn’t just a brother to him, wasn’t just somebody he was responsible for – Germany was his greatest victory, Germany was the only good thing he had ever given the world. Ludwig had been a responsible and intelligent child, even when he would cry for Gilbert when he would wake up in the middle of the dark night. He had learned to read and write faster than the other kids, had learned to play the violin, the piano, the flute almost as if he possessed a natural talent. He understood mathematics and physics, literature and philosophy. In his teens he had been an obedient and smart soldier, Gilbert had taught him to march, how to ride a horse, load a gun and dig a trench, had taught him war in all its finest details. No matter what Gilbert showed him, Ludwig would pick it up in a matter of days.

Gilbert couldn’t let them destroy everything he had built with his own two hands, he couldn’t let them make a mockery of all the time and effort he had given Ludwig.

“Sign," Ivan urged him again, taping the paper folder in front of him. Gilbert looked at it briefly but made no move to even look at whatever incriminating evidence they had inside, not caring if they had fabricated half of even all of it.

"I won't," he declared, looking up at Ivan and raising his chin in defiance.

"Then you'll have to either read it or write one yourself. Would you want a lawyer for your upcoming trial?"

Gilbert refused. He would be defending them himself.

The Allies had debated for only an hour before calling them in again and announcing that changes would be made in the way the trial was held. Gilbert considered that a minor victory.

It was America who declared that Ludwig and Gilbert would no longer be tried on charges of crimes against humanity but on charges of willing participation in war crimes, planning and initiating wars of aggression, conspiracy and wars against peace, with the first charge being given only to Ludwig. Roderick would stand charges of willing participation in crimes against peace and conspiracy with the conditions of his captivity in Berlin remaining unchanged for the time being.

That change, as insignificant as it seemed, proved that now everybody together had reached the conclusion that despite everything, they did not deserve the worst – the charge of crimes against humanity for any nation involved with the Axis and their pact was removed and that meant that they no longer were thought of as inhumane aggressors.

The other new thing was that following their conviction, that would hopefully occur as soon as Japan declared capitulation, another trial would take place where the allies of the Axis powers would also be tried on separate terms and conditions. That seemed to appease those who had had doubts beforehand of the fairness of the trial and would remind them that all questions different than those of Germany’s, Italy’s and at a later time Japan’s actions, would have to be asked later on a different occasion.

Considering their difference in charges, however, it would be harder for Gilbert to defend all of them adequately by himself. That not only meant that Austria would have to stand up in his own defence at some point but it also meant that Germany too had to speak for himself from then on.

That reminded Gilbert of the conversation he had had with Ivan that first time he had been interrogated after they lost Berlin. He had thought long and hard about his words after he had left him, thinking was all he seemed capable of doing. It had been naïve of him to believe they would manage to escape being torn apart in the end. And Ivan had been right – Gilbert had been doing well on his own before Ludwig came asking him for help. Whether he had been pressured by his government or had genuinely wished for Gilbert to be with him again, Prussia couldn’t be fully sure, and he hated himself for the weakness he had shown. Joining Germany on his government’s terms and conditions even after their lengthy fight in court had only confused his people of their national identity, Gilbert along with them. Maybe he really should have fought harder to distance himself from Ludwig when the time had been right, it wasn’t as though Ludwig was a child.

But in many ways, he still was or had been. He had naively expected that he would get away with it after the first war. Then he had kept supporting Feliciano, wasting resources on battles against Greece and campaigns in Africa while Gilbert’s men led the offensive against the Soviets. That all aside, he had allowed himself to be led on by a dictator and had taken Gilbert down with him, daring to even throw a tantrum when the Reichstag burned and Gilbert had personally stood on the side of Bulgaria’s communists in court.

Their relationship had become toxic over the past few years, Ludwig making promises he couldn’t keep, Gilbert committing one monstrous thing after the other in the east and ignoring him. However, Gilbert also feared that if they were to split Germany between themselves, what would happen with Prussia? Would he be given back his pre-war status as a state with Berlin as his capital? He should have asked Ivan when he had had the chance but the last thing on his mind back then had been to even consider his proposal.

Now though, Gilbert would be forced to. Apparently Ivan had decided long before the trial that saving the undeserving Gilbert was worth his time and effort. Politically he would also benefit and that appeared to be the bigger part of the reason why he was ready to try and secure Prussia’s presence on the map.

Gilbert tried not to allow the fear to stir him away from what was important – Feliks had barely shown up on the map again some twenty years ago and he had lived, he had survived just fine. But, another part of him reasoned, Feliks had people who believed themselves to be Polish, people who spoke that hideous language, people who gave their children Polish names and taught them the Polish alphabet. Who were Gilbert’s people, who would remember him, who would start riots in his name?

The next time he met Ivan, he came to what Gilbert had begun to think of as is holding cell. The second hearing had just passed and like the last time, Russia was dreadfully quiet, engulfed in taking in the sight of Gilbert and observing him with that empty, mile-long look of his. Gilbert doubted he was doing this out of his own volition, it appeared that he was in a way influenced by his government. It was infuriating. Gilbert had never been a good judge of character and he had never believed that to be a necessary quality – he considered everyone to be his enemies, possible ones, past ones, present or future ones, and that made it easier to stand the good and the bad people brought. Ivan’s behaviour only confused him.

“Can you promise me to talk to America?” Gilbert asked, daring to look at Ivan. Now that most of his wounds had healed and he not only looked but felt a bit better, he could allow himself to sound and appear demanding. “Or can you call him so I can talk to him myself. It’s about Germany.”

“You have no right to negotiate with the Allies in the name of Germany,” Russia informed him.

“Then can you please ask America if he can at least offer assistance to Germany after the trial, not financial, humanitarian. We won’t be able to support ourselves and all our resources will have to go into repairing the damage in Berlin, Leipzig, Dresden…”

“It’s very noble of you to think of that now but the Soviet Union can’t influence America’s decisions in any way. Neither can we influence Britain’s or France’s for that matter.”

“Well then,” Gilbert said, losing his patience, “can _you_ at least do something?!”

“We are doing our best for the Berlin civilians,” Ivan replied, “though there is still plenty to do. I’m here for something else, however. Have you thought about my proposal?”

Gilbert frowned, “I need more details.”

“I can’t give you any. The Soviet Union will have the eastern parts of Germany under its political control but it’s still questionable if you can still figurate there. What I can say with confidence is that nobody in my government has any reason to abolish Prussia.”

“Then that’s good enough,” Gilbert conceded. “I can’t defend Ludwig anymore when our charges are different.”

“I was the one who offered America and England to make the change in your charges.”

“Why?!” Gilbert exclaimed.

“They would’ve done so anyway. Francis and I mentioned the changes in your government in the thirties and it was decided that your involvement in the Reich wasn’t a matter of personal choice. I’m sure that we took into consideration, what they would call in the law practices, your mitigating factors.”

Gilbert didn’t appreciate the assistance. If he had wanted to save himself, he would have done so already on behalf of Ludwig, Roderick would have done so too. But it wasn’t a matter of betraying him in favour of saving himself. What business had Ivan had to do such a thing without his consent and knowledge?

“I won’t forgive you for doing this,” Gilbert told him.

“I won’t forgive you for betraying my trust either, _again_ ,” Ivan shot back cruelly, his gaze as he looked at Gilbert cold and unforgiving. “And I think you’ve confused yourself. You lost the privilege of making your own decisions a long time ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Background:  
> *chapter naming - not part of the history notes but it's something I wanted to point out, the chapter names are focused on the word time (Zeit, czas, vremya/время) and that's a nod towards the best book of all times, Tokarczuk's 'Prawiek and other times', where the chapters are named in that fashion. This chapter being titled in Russian is actually a hint of what's going on with Prussia and will be occurring - we see a slow and steady foreshadowing of a new Soviet government, the birth of the DDR/GDR, the Soviet government, in general, had nothing against Prussia remaining as Prussia given the history they shared, the Russians did try to give humanitarian help to the Berliners by organising public kitchens and giving out food though that hardly solved the hunger issue. The Russians, however, upon entering Germany began a spree of pillaging, murder, raping, and that violence was done with an amazing amount of hatred that, given the way their German enemy invaded their own lands and treated their own civilians, may actually seem justified. I myself won't give an opinion because I consider myself a little bit biased but I would really love to use this when expanding Prussia and Russia's relationship in the future.  
> *German intervention - the Nazis finally intervened when Pavelić started acting on his own volition, actively exterminating minorities, disposing of political enemies and building one of the bloodiest regimes in history. So if even the Nazi government which basically began the Holocaust felt threatened by the possibility of Croatia's crimes being related to them in any way, you better believe it was serious. Croatia though would've been so caught up in trying to suck up to Italy and Germany and be his own country that he probably would've been even happy with his position. *Poglavnik is the way Pavelić and his subordinates referred to him and that was tacky as hell because it carried the same meaning Duce and Fuhrer did.  
> *Croatia-Bulgaria relation - I saw a very violent debate about whether Bulgaria or Croatia was older than the other in the comments of a Youtube video once :D So I wanted to portray them in a very non-violent scene because I think that at that time Bulgaria would've been on friendly terms with very few of his neighbours. I was shocked to find out that they really would've been somewhat friendly and would've known each other, not only as allies of the Axis - apparently Pavelić was a supporter of an organisation known as the IMRO, originally a Bulgarian-based organisation working to free Macedonia, before gaining a bit of terroristic vibe. Pavelić even formalized the cooperation between his organization and the IMRO, the main objective being to separate Croatia and Macedonia from Yugoslavia (this apparently was done in Sofia, after which Serbia basically bitched to Bulgaria about it). In school, we were taught the IMRO meant nothing but good and that those men were heroes but how big of a hero must you be if you were affiliated to Ante Pavelić? Let's say that during the time of the Balkan Wars and the two world wars, the Balkans were generally a very bad, very crazy place.  
> *Write and read - Cyrillic spread to what is now Russia after they accepted Christianisation, at that time through wars and active religious crusades, a bunch of texts from Bulgaria found themselves in Kievan Rus, so I like to imagine Bulgaria, back then around Ukraine's age character-wise, holding little Russia's hand while he practised writing or teaching him those odd alphabet sentences to remember the names and sounds of the letters. At that time they would've still been using the written Old Bulgarian, which was also used by the Romanian church as well at a point c:  
> *warfare in the Reichstag - so after the fire, the Reichstag was no longer in any use. Capturing it, however, was quite symbolic as the building itself was a representation of the Reich. Germans and Russians engaged in active warfare in the very building.  
> *"hideous language" - now, the last thing I think of Polish is that it's an ugly language! But part of the reason the ancient Slavs were considered barbarians was that the spoke a language that sounded raw and barbaric. Polish, linguistically, is a time machine of a language, carrying a ton of grammatical, phonetical and lexical similarities to the Old Bulgarian that was an example of a whole era in the development of the modern Slavic language family. So, to Prussia's ear, the way Poland actually speaks at this point isn't that much different than the general way he remembers him speaking when they were children. Then again, we should also take into account the way Prussia also grew up - he was part of the people that saw the ancient Slavs as barbarians in the first place. This is one very lengthy subject we can talk about but not right now c:  
> (( Thank you for reading and stay tuned for more! Chapter 4 should be out soon! ))


	4. Czas Honoru

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's finally done, chapter 4! This chapter was as fun to write as it was horrible at times but I still did it, I hope I've done a good job. I can never stress enough how much I adore the tension between Poland and Prussia so this chapter will have a bunch of stuff I would love to work with in later fics (also for the last few weeks I've been a sucker for the idea of PruPol in a 365 Days universe...). Hopefully, I'll manage to have chapter 5 out by the end of this week, I'll try to finish this fic as quickly as possible to move on to the next for this summer! As always, thank you so much for the support this fic received, I'm glad to see people keeping up with it and I hope you stay for chapter 5 too <33 Comments and critique are always welcome and check out the endnotes for historical background c: !

Feliks came to Warsaw from Kielce early that morning; there had still been a couple of hours before the sun was to rise. They tried to put him in charge of a squad but, startled by the possibility of making a fool of himself as a leader, he convinced them to think twice and appoint someone else. It had been just recently that Feliks had begun to participate in rather active warfare – a long time had passed since he had willingly done so last, a time in which the rifle and tank had replaced the sword and armour.

War and its laws might have changed since the last time he had fought for himself and in his name but one thing apparently hadn’t and that was Poland’s tendency to act without thinking. When, after the burst of gunfire that greeted them from the upper floor, the body of their young squad leader toppled over and fell down the stairs, already dead before he hit the floor, Feliks was already reaching for the pistol they had given him.

Crouching still he walked out into the open and, without waiting to aim, fired in the direction of the enemy. He kneeled beside the body of the shot boy and reached to take his weapon with shaking hands. After throwing his own gun towards the man closest to him, Feliks ran up the stairs.

“After me!” He called after himself. Somebody screamed from one of the rooms when Feliks took cover behind one wall and he realized, almost with relief, that he had managed to shoot someone.

Another short round of gunfire followed from the room but Feliks had no time to think if any more of his had been killed. Someone ordered them to take cover before throwing a hand grenade inside the room; they had very little of those, they could’ve managed without using it. Those aren’t toys, Feliks wanted to scold them, then he surprised his own self when he remembered that they had armed children to lead a war.

He covered his ears and had only enough time to lay down before standing back up when the shock of the explosion subsided. What was left was only falling bits of paint from the walls and ceiling and a storm of splinters from the floor and the tables that had been gathered by the windows.

A man screamed, throwing his body left and right on the floor in pain, leaving pools and smears of blood across the dirty wood. He held onto his leg, most of which no longer even resembled a limb, and Feliks, without so much as a moment of hesitation, raised his gun and shot him.

A sudden noise came from the adjacent room and Feliks perked up. One of his called for him but he waved his hand, motioning for them to wait before tightening his grip around the handle of the gun and carefully crossing the room into what seemed to be a dark storage.

One audible click came from his right and Feliks stopped, his body suddenly feeling as though it was made of lead. Whoever was in there with him, however, hesitated after loading their weapon and Feliks took that brief moment to look at them, risking to aim his weapon as well.

“Drop it,” the gruff, familiar voice demanded in German but all it took was one glance from Feliks to make him decide that if Prussia didn’t put down the weapon first, then he would never do it. “Drop the weapon.”

“You drop it,” Poland ordered in response, taking note of the uncertainty in the other’s voice. “Hands to the ceiling where I can see them, right now.”

He saw Gilbert run his tongue over his dry lips, stubbornly glaring at Feliks. Neither could remember the last time they had seen each other in person but they hadn’t expected their reunion to happen in such a plain and even boring setting.

Feliks pulled the trigger only a moment after Gilbert but there was one small difference – while Gilbert’s gun didn’t go off, its barrel empty, Feliks’ did. The thunderous sound that followed the cloud of burning gunpowder shook the walls of the storage room.

After declaring the new conditions of the trial and meeting the majority’s positive reaction, Alfred asked to hear Poland’s testimony. Gilbert had been prepared, he knew they would give Feliks the word at some point. He looked at Ivan, hoping to see the slightest bit of concern. But there wasn’t even the slightest crack in Ivan's stoic composure.

Poland spoke as if he was the first student on an exam he hadn’t prepared for, with the way he stumbled over his words. Apparently he hadn’t gotten used to being the centre of attention but that barely made an impression. His emotional stuttering and constant repetition to add something he had missed in his previous statement or to clarify what he felt he could have presented better hardly caused any annoyance. Only when being questioned did he answer somewhat casually and in a calmer tone.

He never mentioned Russia and his involvement in any aggression against him and his people, something which surprised and confused Gilbert. When asked about it, Feliks only noted that his collaboration with Russia was a result of a personal truce between the two and decisions made by the governments of both sides. Their current relationship was based primarily on agreements to offer mutual assistance. The Polish government, after its official restoration, would likely distance itself from that of the Soviet Union.

That hadn’t been the point of the question but it appeared Feliks had dodged it on purpose. Gilbert had expected a circus – the best he received were a few accusations presented dryly enough to believe Poland had grown out of any ill feelings or had put those aside for the sake of the trial. He forgot to apologize, of course, for his unwarranted aggression prior to the war and it seemed that he wouldn’t think to do it himself if no one prompted him. Nobody would think of doing such a thing, if only for the sake of decency.

“We were told that our main priority was unity with East Prussia,” Ludwig explained when asked to comment his sudden outburst of hostility against Feliks. “The matter was personal for us. We couldn't let things continue the same way after we heard of the oppression our ethnic population was facing at that time.”

“And when did your objectives change?” America asked him.

“We were met with aggression and reluctance to negotiate when we tried to settle the question diplomatically. We had no other choice...”

“Oh, please!” Feliks exclaimed, “Aggression from me? I was violent to you first? How can you be so arrogant! Actually, Ludwig, I think dumb is what you are! You were dumb before and you only became dumber if you still believe in fairy tales…”

“Poland, please, sit down,” Francis interrupted him, hoping to end the scandal before it began. “To be fair, Ludwig wouldn’t be wrong to think so initially. You weren’t quite diplomatic yourself back then, the rumours…”

“Rumours, rumours! Everybody can say what they want in Berlin, we’re not in Moscow!”

“We were presented verified information,” Ludwig said, without looking at Feliks, “not a rumour. If it were one, we would've never answered with violence.”

“You’re delusional,” Feliks gasped, looking over at the Allies to see if they were anywhere near believing Ludwig’s explanation. “You’re trying to put the blame on _me_? Do you think it’ll ever get through?!”

“It doesn’t matter who started it first,” Arthur interrupted. “No, of course, it _does_ , but that isn’t the point. Germany was never meant to possess the military potential it did at that time, it was a matter of contracts and agreements that you didn’t fulfil. Do you see where exactly the root of our discussion lies?”

“But you let him!” Czech exclaimed suddenly, visibly baffled. “You knew he was acting against the agreements! You knew when they revived their military industry, when they started making weapons, ships and tanks and sewing uniforms. You agreed to let him occupy regions of mine! Was that the diplomatic way you were planning to take back Gdańsk, Ludwig? Because it wasn’t very diplomatic of you, bribing and threatening me.”

“Arthur and Francis knew,” Feliks supported her. “How many times did I call you? How many times did I tell you to look at what Germany was doing? I told you he was mobilizing! It doesn’t matter if you wanted Gdańsk or East Prussia or, or...You had no right!”

“I’m sure we’re discussing what happened after you decided to retake Gdansk, Ludwig,” Alfred pointed out. “We wouldn’t be here if you had really wanted to stick to the diplomatic approach.”

“But why are we even talking only about Germany?” Feliks asked, crossing his arms. “Doesn't Prussia have anything to say? It was Gilbert who declared war on me first, not Ludwig!”

Gilbert glanced at him over his shoulder, biting back an insult. He could've saved for himself that minor clarification. Though the Allies would've been informed of that fact, of course. It couldn't have been a secret anymore to any of them that it had been Gilbert who had negotiated with Hedvika - or, as she had put it, had threatened her, neither was it unclear that he had been involved in planning their operations against Poland.

Knowing that they already were well aware of that would make it even harder for Gilbert to prove that he hadn't wanted war with Feliks - he had. Those intentions of his were the only thing he would never be able to lie about.

A Polish doctor took the bullet out of his shoulder, cleaned and bandaged the deep wound it had left in a hurry. With over ten more patients in conditions far more severe than his to think about, Gilbert was the last thing on his mind.

They kept an eye on him after that, an armed man stood near his bed at all times while Gilbert, feeling too ill, tried to rest and not think about the unfortunate situation.

Poland came to see him after two whole days, if Gilbert had kept track of the time correctly. He looked just a little bit battered, his uniform, hands and face just bit dirtier. Nobody had told Prussia yet just what was going on in the city but he hoped it ended in the manner of all of Feliks’ other rebellious stunts. If he hadn’t learned from his past mistakes, then now Gilbert would make sure he did, just as soon as someone came to get him.

“What, the hell, do you think you’re doing?” He asked through gritted teeth as Feliks sat on the floor just opposite of the mattress they had thrown down for Gilbert to lay on.

Feliks put the shotgun on his thighs and crossed his ankles, blinking comically at Gilbert before shaking his head.

“Nie rozumiałem,” he said, before again becoming gravely serious. “I don’t think I understood that, you’re going to have to change the tone.”

“I’ll _destroy_ you,” Gilbert threatened, the rage bringing some colour to his otherwise pale face.

“I’ve also heard that before. Might as well say something new.”

“Do you think you’ll get away with this? Because you won’t. You just lost the only subordinate you had! What are you expecting to get? Russia’s support? Don’t be delusional! Do you think he’ll be better than me? Do you think he’ll help you out of the goodness of his heart? Don’t you even count on it.”

“I’m doing what I have to do,” Feliks told him, “for myself and myself alone. Neither you nor Ivan will be a factor anymore.”

Gilbert felt like he could, despite his fatigue, jump at him that very moment, tackle him to the ground and squeeze the life out of Feliks with his bare hands. Not once in history has there been a thorn in his side so bothersome. Not once in history has there ever been a man Gilbert had despised more than Feliks – it seemed he could tolerate anyone, but when it came to Poland, Gilbert couldn’t contain himself. Insults would become bursts of violence in a matter of moments and Feliks always seemed to have it coming, always seemed to be provoking him on purpose.

Feliks had always been a spitfire of a man, always the horrible surprise you never expected. The problem in him was that he was unpredictable, the impression he gave never spoke of his true intentions. Gilbert, for example, always made the same mistakes when dealing with him – he always thought he could defeat Feliks with cunningness and when manipulation took him nowhere, then brute force never failed him. But kicking Feliks when he was down always gave the opposite results. Gilbert had always believed that if he took away all the things that made Poland who he was, he would make him disappear. But that never happened. Not in the many long years of their neighbourhood it didn’t and as it seemed it was still nowhere near close to happening. Would Poland really outlive him?

After everything they had dragged him through, more than once in the past centuries, how in the world was he still there? He looked at Prussia as if he were a particularly dirty thing stuck to the sole of his shoe, whoever was he to look at him in such a way? Very few people had ever made Gilbert feel fear and insecurity and he had hated each one with a passion – Poland he hated in a different, special kind of way. One that would never go away.

“Traitor,” he spat.

“Bitch,” Feliks replied, with the same amount of spite. “That position suits you. Better get used to it.”

“You seemed to be forgetting,” Gilbert said, “just who was in this exact position just a few months ago. I hope you haven’t forgotten it.”

“I won’t need to remember. What you better try and remember though is that the war is over for you. It’ll only be a few days before this all is over and then I’ll have Russia deal with you personally. It’s over for you, Prussia. _Das Ende_.”

“You’ll regret this…”

“No, no, no,” Feliks argued. “I think you’ll be regretting it far more.”

They called him outside before he could continue bothering him and Gilbert was glad to be alone again.

He’d hear fire come from somewhere outside through the night and day, short bursts followed by even louder ruckus. Gilbert could hear the commotion coming from outside the room they kept him in and by the end of the week, they began to bring patients there too. One man, at the sight of Gilbert’s uniform, tried to lunch himself at him upon being brought in, despite his miserable state, but before he could his friends and the doctor pulled him back. All he could do was yell profanities – those Prussia could understand; it was only when the man began to openly cry did Gilbert began to think that whatever was going on out there couldn’t have been to Poland’s advantage.

It was a thought that he clung to, knowing that it was the enemy he heard screaming and not his own men soothed him. But Gilbert couldn’t allow himself to remain in captivity for the remainder of Poland’s stunt. He wouldn’t be giving a good example if he did.

But planning an escape when he was no longer alone was difficult; though Gilbert felt he was no longer under active surveillance after the need for men on the front lines overcame the need to have someone there babysitting him, there were too many people for him to slip by unnoticed in his uniform.

The chance to escape appeared not long after Gilbert had found himself in captivity.

His gun wound had just begun to close when they dropped the bombs over their school turned hospital and meeting point. It was still an open wound, it hurt when Gilbert took off his black jacket and used the all-around distraction to move closer to the nearest man that lay beside his mattress. Of those who had been left in the building, very few had even survived the night, succumbing to their wounds. People had to be left behind when they became an obstacle, Gilbert had learned that in his youth the hard way. Now it barely fazed him.

He shamelessly stripped the delirious man, urged on by the impending roar of the plane engines coming from outside. He pulled on the bloodied shirt and left it unbuttoned in his hurry to strip the man of his armband. It wasn’t as though he wouldn’t be recognized by the running staff and soldiers and field nurses that were merely students. What mattered was not to be recognized too soon.

Nobody was looking out for him and Gilbert used that to his advantage. He hid in the empty rooms whenever people passed by and given the sudden commotion that significantly slowed down his escape. He managed to make it through a window once on the first floor, catching merely a glance of the sky above before one bomber dropped the first bomb which, unlike the last that had landed somewhere up the street and had set off the panic in the first place, managed to hit the roof of the building he now stood beside.

Gilbert ducked, covering his head out of instinct, shocked still by the horrible noise. The glass of the window he had climbed out of shattered, shards spilling over him and followed soon by pieces of brick, wood and tile from the roof. He couldn’t hear anything suddenly but the ringing coming from his own head and Gilbert knew instantly – if he had been a normal man, he would’ve been dead already.

“We offered to negotiate, you refused,” Gilbert said, looking at the wall in front of him and trying in vain to calm himself. “If you had also stuck to diplomacy instead of pulling your miserable and ugly stunts on us, without minding the effects it would have on the civilians, we could’ve reached an agreement.”

He didn’t have to look to know Feliks’ jaw had nearly dropped. He had known him for centuries and had tried to destroy him for the majority of that time, Gilbert knew well where to hit to hurt him most.

“You’re lying,” Feliks said, raising his voice as he spoke on. “You’re talking nonsense and you know well you are! We never did the things your newspapers said we did, you know we didn’t…!”

“Yes, tell that to the innocent people you let be murdered just for being German.”

“It wasn’t my fault! You lied then and you keep on lying!”

When Feliks slapped his hands onto the table in spite and Arthur had to remind him to be decent, Gilbert knew it would only take another such jab to get him to either storm out of the room or jump him.

“All I’m saying is that you have a problem, Łukasiewicz,” he pointed out, “with the memory and temper. We gave you a chance to work with us, we offered you territorial compensations. Instead, you completely disregarded our offer and disregard your German minority, which, by the way, are and always have been a majority in Danzig!”

“Oh, so does Czech have a problem with the memory and temper too?!”

“Poland,” Arthur tried to scold him again for his tone until Feliks interrupted him.

“No, does she?! Does she not remember the way you threatened her into letting you march into Prague? And you say I don’t remember but you’re the one who forgot our treaty! We had a deal – no war, for ten years! Or don’t you remember that?”

“Poland, we already know what Germany’s propaganda was full with,” Francis said. “We know who was the aggressor, you don’t have to get emotional now.”

“I guess I have to!” Feliks exclaimed, “Since apparently Prussia has doubts. And I have all the right to be emotional, I have the right to be angry when this person keeps on fabricating the truth! Last I knew, Gilbo, only the winners could write history, or did your head get sent to some other century.”

“You listen…” Gilbert began, biting his lip before he the words could slip out of his mouth. Whether he was the one successfully taunting Feliks or the other way around, nobody could tell anymore. “Propaganda doesn’t speak the truth, I’m sure we all know that. It’s harder to change the fact that civilians were murdered, German civilians.”

“Now that we mentioned it,” Alfred interrupted, raising a brow, “what about the Polish civilians, Prussia? Or the French civilians? Or were they casualties you could live with?”

He was on the verge of saying that Poland’s civilians were his casualties to think of, not Germany’s or Prussia’s, but knowing how that would sound, Gilbert stopped himself.

Cruelty aside, he had seen civilians suffer for long enough to know that you couldn’t be guilty of something you couldn’t help. When it came to the Polish civilians in particular, Gilbert believed they would be used to it by now, rightfully so.

He didn’t voice his opinion on the matter, of course.

“You can sit down now, Poland,” Arthur told him, efficiently putting an end to his testimony before another such emotional outburst could happen. Feliks, though baffled as to why they would purposefully get him to shut up before the question could be settled, sat back down quietly. Not because Arthur had sounded so convincing, of course. Hardly anyone noticed the way he looked at Ivan, as if questioning him if he should really be sitting down, so only when he received a quiet, unnoticeable nod of the head in reply did he do as Arthur had told him.

Russia remained quiet through the questioning that followed, covering the small quirk of his lips behind his palm. He was hardly interested in Prussia now – with Feliks, he was steadily moving closer to victory.

Feliks hardly minded his manners when Ivan handed him the tin bowl full of steaming stew – most of which was merely potatoes and seasoned water with a slice of meat or two thrown in to add its flavour. He ate as though he had been starving, wetting large chunks of bread with the broth and stuffing them in his mouth before taking hold of the spoon again. Ivan admired his appetite for a while, giving Feliks enough time to finish his dinner – good decisions could hardly be made on an empty stomach.

“I’m glad to see you have such appetite again,” Ivan said, resting his chin on his hand. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll get them to fry the potatoes for you.”

“I’d never think you wouldn't have known that potatoes could be fried,” Feliks replied, licking his lips before brushing the left-over moisture left on his chin and mouth with the back of his hand. He sighed, happy to feel his stomach full, before finally turning his attention back to Russia. “More?”

“Don’t be greedy,” Ivan laughed. “You’ll make yourself sick. I was thinking that you’ve gotten very thin.”

“Yes, it’s a fantastic result you can congratulate yourself on,” Feliks said, clapping his hands mockingly.

“Well, I am feeding you now, aren’t I? Arthur didn’t even offer you a glass of water.”

Feliks looked around bitterly, at the soldiers and civilians, old people and women with children, some eating stew and others waiting in line to get a portion. He would’ve said that Ivan was overreacting before reminding himself that some people barely had even that small bowl of food he had just eaten.

“Why are we mentioning England?” He asked, toying with the leftover piece of bread he hadn’t eaten.

“Why shouldn’t we? You know he and Francis were a bit worried that you would cause a scene if you came. Rightfully so, or…?”

“Of course not,” Feliks huffed. He was hardly that theatrical, or so he thought of himself.

“I actually want to make you an offer, Feliks,” Ivan said, going straight to the point. “It’s horrible what happened to you…I apologize for it, really I do.”

“You were part of the problem. And I joined forces with you not because I had forgotten that, unless you hadn’t noticed.”

“I noticed. That doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want us fighting anymore. And that I would want to make it up to you…”

Feliks appeared unmoved by Ivan’s sudden and emotional apology.

“Why now?” He asked.

“Because now we share an enemy,” Russia replied, quickly and with honesty.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend. But that doesn’t really make us allies by choice, does it?”

“You’re right, of course. But, Poland, what I’m trying to say is that right now you do need an ally. One that is willing to offer you immediate help now and one you can continue to rely on for the future.”

“And that ally is you?” Poland raised a brow.

“Would you rather it be Arthur?” Ivan asked, “If that is what you want, of course. But both of us know how much he helped last time.”

“You’re not the right person to speak of that, considering you did the opposite of helping then.”

“And now I want to redeem myself and prove to you that you can rely on the Soviet government.”

“I’d rather rely on my own, thank you very much.”

“Stubborn as always,” Ivan sighed. “Alright then, let me say it this way. We are already subordinates, yes? I have done nothing but help you so far and plan to continue helping you. It’s quite clear England will show no interest in offering you support unless you go and ask him for it. But you’re not a bagger, are you? And…I do believe you too won’t rely on those western traitors after you saw just who they are, how they think. They have never been interested in eastern Europe’s struggles. But, I, on the other hand, will always help where I can. You can count on it.”

“I might sound rude,” Feliks said, “and I won’t apologise for it, but, Ivan, I don’t trust a bit of what you’re saying. I doubt I’ll trust you in a thousand years. You don’t help, you stick your nose into other people’s business and crawl under their skin. I have been cooperating with you so far only because it benefits me and my people but if you plan on getting into my government…”

“You’re wrong, Feliks,” Russia insisted sadly. “All I’m offering is a shoulder for you to lean on. I know for a fact that you’re capable, you’ve become a hard worker, you aren’t stupid. You could do it on your own anytime. But if you agree to let me help you, the results will only come quicker. If you think about it, you can only benefit from such a partnership. The same way you’re benefitting now.”

To anyone else, there would be nothing more genuine than the sincerity in Ivan’s words and his expression of guilt. But Poland had seen what lay under that false façade of comfort enough times to know better. He was in a bit of a pinch, however, more so than ever. He could also tell that it wasn’t just him feeling torn between trusting Russia and trusting himself, his government was also tearing apart. Opinions had always been strong and contrary – accept Russia or not, trust the Russians or not. Feliks couldn’t.

“Do you want to go on a walk?” Ivan asked him suddenly, managing to catch Poland quite off guard. He smiled, however, encouragingly when he saw him hesitate and stood up first as an example. “Come on,” Russia urged.

Whatever was there left to do; they went on a walk.

The squad leader stormed into the hospital – judging by his age and the way he carried himself, he must've had much more experience than the children Feliks had been tasked to supervise and lead. He had become a bit of legend, he had. But children were quite impressionable, especially the ones that hadn’t yet seen half of what war had to offer.

“Pan Łukasiewicz, I’m looking for pan Łukasiewicz!” the man said, looking around frantically at the faces of the passing nurses and soldiers.

“He’s right here,” Feliks called back, though when the man looked at him, his face twisted in a grimace of confusion. Rightfully so as well, Poland too wouldn’t have recognized himself as a mister if he saw himself all dressed up in women’s clothing, never mind the obvious boots and trousers underneath.

“Excuse me?” the man questioned, raising a brow. Clearly he had expected something far different.

The moment Feliks realized where the confusion had come from he again began struggling to take off the outfit he had on top of his pants and undershirt. One of the women from his squad with which he had been shooting at Germans just the day prior quickly ran to help him.

“Just a moment,” he breathed, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed. “Can you please just undo the buttons so I can pull it off?”

“Here it goes, here it goes…” the girl helped him tug off the dress, up and over his head, before Poland looked rather presentable again.

Navigating the streets hadn’t been a problem until apparently word had gotten out straight from Berlin just who to look for. Ludwig must’ve had something to do with it, Feliks supposed, after he had lost all touch with his brother. That was the only way Poland could explain to himself why suddenly his name was known all around the city when he hadn’t had the same problem losing his German trackers somewhere near Kielce before coming to Warsaw. Dressing up as woman, of course, could’ve been avoided, but Feliks didn’t want to go down in the sewers either and hide just yet.

He had hoped he could get back to the school quicker but after the bombs started dropping, there was hardly anything else left to do than evacuate.

“I’m Fe…no, pan Łukasiewicz,” he introduced himself, before changing his mind again, “no, Feliks, I’m just Feliks. Has something happened?”

The man introduced himself and Poland wasn’t surprised to learn that he had served in the military and had had the rank of lieutenant. He shook his hand even, forgetting to question Feliks’ minor inconvenience with his disguise.

“They told me to come and find you just as they dropped the bomb over the school and began their air raid,” the lieutenant explained. “Apparently there was a problem with your prisoner, the German you ordered they keep an eye on. He’s gone.”

Feliks bit his lip but even despite that he couldn’t help but curse. He had considered capturing Prussia a victory, never mind that nobody could quite understand his importance, but now that he was free again it would be mere hours before he was back to his army. And while Poland, though a figure of inspiration, didn’t quite have the ability some of his men had to lead war tactically, to the German military Gilbert was far more than an inspirational figure – he was the one who oiled the machine of war that had swept through Europe.

“Well, where is he?!” Feliks asked, his voice unreasonably loud. “What do you mean he’s gone?”

“We had enough to do that the last thing we could think of was a wounded German prisoner.” The man explained, “We’re sorry but…”

“My men are at your disposal,” Feliks interrupted him, motioning for the few boys and girls that had gathered around to hear what the man had to say. “Tell them what to do and what to help with. I need a shirt! Someone give me a uniform shirt…”

“But where are you going?” The lieutenant exclaimed after him while Poland dressed.

“I’m going after the prisoner I explicitly gave an order to everybody to guard! Because that man can ruin everything! Oh, kurwa…”

He buttoned the buttons on his way out and fastened the belt around his waist. His fingers shook and for a moment Feliks had to stop and remind himself that he could blow up something important if he wasn’t careful when he tried to push his pistol under the belt of his pants.

One thing was certain, Gilbert wasn’t going to get away as easily as he thought he would. Feliks would never let him. He could run but while he was in Warsaw, where Poland knew every brick of every building, Prussia was as good as a mouse in a maze with no exit. And if a bullet in the shoulder hadn’t stopped him, then Feliks would aim far better when they met again.

Having decided that there was nothing else significant to hear of Poland’s testimony, the Allies proceeded to question both Prussia and Germany, breaking down their defence until it became clear who was responsible for what, what was a lie and what had been staged.

When Gilbert was forced to admit to staging some of the more major accidents along his border with Poland just days before September 1st, came the expected question – why Feliks. Had there been a personal reason? If Prussia had said yes, he would've gone back to square one. Of course, there had been, there had always been a lingering bitterness when it came to Poland. But he couldn’t say so outright or that would mean that he had willingly taken part in the conspiracy against him.

“When we saw that negotiating with Poland would be impossible,” Ludwig said, relieving Gilbert of the responsibility to answer, “we realised that we had to expect violence. There was nothing personal involved in that decision.”

“But you were preparing for war for months,” Arthur pointed out. “Why was that even necessary if you didn’t, at the time, know if Poland would be ready to negotiate?”

“We had to be ready…”

“You violated important clauses in our treaties after the first war.”

“We had in mind the German population that was left in Danzig and East Prussia. If Poland hadn’t responded so violently to simple demands, we wouldn’t have acted out in the first place.”

“I couldn't go around convincing people not to shoot your Germans when they opened fire first, could I?” Feliks exclaimed, stomping his foot on the floor. “I couldn't go around telling them to be kind to the Germans in their own country when they threatened them first!”

“Then what will you say about your pact with Russia?” Alfred probed, making a conscious jab at Ivan as well. “That was made prior to the war, while your negotiations with Poland were still ongoing. You don’t just make a deal with someone, promising someone else’s territories if you had in mind peaceful negotiations.”

“There was one reason, really,” Ivan sighed from the seat beside America. “As barbaric as it seems, there isn’t really anything to understand about a purposeful invasion. It is obvious Germany didn’t approve of the changes we were forced to make to his borders. He simply went too far and decided to take a bit more than he had lost before, nothing quite special about that.”

Alfred looked at him sideways but held back his comment. It wasn’t the Soviet Union that was being tried. Given the situation, Ivan wouldn’t ever even see a trial.

“We weren’t informed on the exact amount of territories we would retake in the case of war,” Ludwig explained. At that point, the Allies were all simply too tired to argue whether he had known or hadn’t of the details of his government’s plans.

“And were you aware, Prussia?” Arthur asked.

Of course, he had been. He had known the next target would be Feliks ever since their negotiations with Hedvika had led to their occupation of Czech. It was only the right thing to do, they had convinced him. Later they had asked Gilbert what the best way to deal with Poland would be and Prussia, not just a soldier but also an excellent strategist, had given them the hint. Feliks had believed the world was Poland’s, his arrogance and self-confidence being Gilbert’s main weapon against him.

Slovakia had told him once just before they had to change the date of their attack that Feliks hardly deserved such a thing.

“Are you backing out now?” Gilbert had asked, his tone alone letting Slovakia know that it was far too late to try and bargain on behalf of Poland.

“Not exactly,” Tomáš had back-peddled quickly. “No, I mean…I would’ve thought he would’ve negotiated, after all. He…”

“Oh, stop it! Relatives or not, I’m guessing that Feliks’ earned his place as one of those annoying cousins you wouldn’t want to see at the family reunion, am I right? You would perhaps be doing a fair amount of people good.”

The thing about it was that Gilbert had believed his own self whenever he spoke so rudely of Feliks. Had Poland been smart, none of what happened would’ve even been considered. But he had never been smart, no matter how educated Feliks believed himself to be. Gilbert himself had never been overly intelligent but Poland’s problem seemed to be much too different – he was simply too dumb to understand his place. Czech had – Poland had persisted, pitifully.

They were all the same to him, Gilbert had decided. They had spent far too much time being controlled by someone else to know how to manage on their own properly. It was a waste of time to even imagine that they could ever give something meaningful to the world.

He said none of that of course, merely shrugging his shoulders instead, quite dumbly.

“I never knew,” Gilbert told them. “I was only aware of what they let me know. As I said, the classified details were up to other people to know.”

He was by then becoming a broken record, playing the same excuse. When the Allies realized that they wouldn’t manage to break that part of his defence, they conceded, choosing to end the hearing that had already been going on for a good few hours.

The bullet whistled right past his ear but he had been stupid enough to run in the line of fire, knowing that there had to be snipers waiting. And with him wearing the Polish flag on his arm, Gilbert was as good a target as anyone else.

“Don’t shoot!” He yelled, hoping his voice would reach someone. He could hardly hear himself through the ringing in his ears. “Please, don’t shoot, I’m German!”

It had been a bad and desperate choice to run out in the clear as he had but Gilbert had spent enough time trying to make it out of the war zone and make contact with his troops. They were probably looking for him already and it was hard keeping his cover when everybody had been warned to watch out for him.

He would either be shot by his own or by the Polish that had taken cover in the buildings somewhere behind him. If fire did break out, Gilbert would duck and find cover before he could crawl his way to the nearest German tank.

There was a delay – the Germans had to be surprised by the man that had suddenly ran out in plain sight and had begun to wave his arms around in earnest. They ceased their fire and, unable to hear him from such a distance, began to ask themselves who he could be and what he could be doing. There were tanks stationed up the street and in the alleys surrounding him, meant to form a circle to trap the resistance fighters that hadn’t the privilege of a tank or that of planes or even a weapon to arm every single man and woman. Gilbert had overheard them speaking so among each other while he tried to keep cover – that had reassured him that, though he had tried to appear confidant, Feliks too knew that their time was up.

The tank just up the street continued its slow advance towards him and Gilbert saw its top open, revealing the top of a helmet and then the sun shone into the two lenses of a pair of binoculars. He quickly tore off his dirty shirt and threw it aside along with the armband that had already become dirty and its colours unrecognizable.

“Das ist er!” Someone called out victoriously, though he couldn’t tell if it had been the man from the tank or someone else just as distant. “That is him! Das ist Herr Beilschmidt!”

A grenade fell between him and the tank and though it hadn’t been close, Gilbert fell to the ground and covered his head. The whole ordeal hadn’t taken more than a few minutes but the fight hadn’t ended regardless, he had still been standing foolishly in the middle of the battlefield.

“Prussia!” Someone called from behind him and though when Gilbert raised his head he couldn’t see him immediately, he knew it could only be Feliks. Who else would turn to him as Prussia so casually?

He stood up, his body shaking with adrenaline – it made him feel a peculiar way, put his head in a whole other space that only the smell of gunpowder and the sound of gunfire could send him to. Like the last time they had met, Poland stood in front of him, appearing from behind a pile of rubble where he had been taking cover until then. There was something wild in the way he stared him down, something neither predatory nor inherent only to pray. Gilbert couldn’t remember a time when Feliks’ expression had been anything but one of either nonchalance, smugness or the occasional one of spite. But he had never seen him in such a desperate state – he realized then that this was their turning point. What was for Gilbert a mere rebellion to crush was for Feliks the final battle, the one that would decide whether he would live or die.

“You have ten minutes,” Gilbert tried to reason with him, raising his hands as if to surrender. “You can either shoot me or use that time to get your men out of here before I give the order to open fire again.”

“And you’ve got one minute,” Feliks said, “to say a quick prayer before I shoot you.”

“You’re losing, Poland. Ten minutes, think with your empty head!”

He saw the gun’s barrel shaking. Feliks’ hands began to drop before he raised them again; he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t shoot when Gilbert took a step back and then another until he was running for cover towards his soldiers.

When Gilbert was already a few meters away, Feliks raised the gun to the sky and pulled the trigger rapidly, as many times as there were bullets left, overcome by some horrible madness that prevented him from thinking properly, otherwise he would never have wasted bullets so casually.

“I’m going to get you!” He screamed after Gilbert desperately, the rawness of his voice bearing nothing but anguish and despair mixed with a horrible, frightening hatred. Gilbert spared him only a glance over his shoulder, managing to see as Feliks stomped his feet on the ground like a child throwing a tantrum. “Do you hear me? Run all you want, kurwo, but I’ll get you! I’ll swim through Vistula if I have to, I’ll walk through Siberia twice but I’ll find you! And when I do, I’ll kill you, Gilbert! You son of a bitch, you German whore…!”

Unbothered by Feliks’ colourful string of curses – in fact, it was his voice and not the words that made Gilbert shudder – Prussia continued his run for the tank. The man inside poked his head out to greet him but before he could, Gilbert motioned for him to keep down.

“The moment you see people,” he told him, “you open fire. That's an order.”

Ivan walked with him with an almost poetic smile which made his features somewhat softer, calmer and even innocent almost. Feliks had nothing to tell him. Lost in his thoughts he followed him, kicking from time to time the rubble in his feet and throwing glances at the women washing their clothes by the fire hydrants while their children played around them. There were hardly any other men except soldiers – they patrolled in small groups and tormented the young women and the elderly Berliners as though they had the right to.

Feliks nearly bumped into him when Ivan stopped abruptly, looked at him and raised a hand upward. What Poland saw when he raised his head was his flag, his bicolour, flowing freely from the top of the Victory Column – both colours were bright and clean and stood out uncannily against the ruined grey background of the city and sky.

“Is this why we had to go on a walk?” Feliks asked, glancing at Ivan before looking back up, mesmerized almost by the sight.

“I wasn’t sure if you had seen it,” Ivan said, smiling brightly. “And I didn’t know if Lithuania had pointed it out to you yet. You were in horrible shape when we met each other last time, otherwise, I would’ve taken you with us and you could’ve done this yourself.”

“And why are we here?”

“I find it a beautiful reminder of what we can achieve if we work together. Don’t you think? I’m not trying to pressure you, Feliks. I thought it was important though to show you something amazing.”

Poland didn’t reply immediately, incapable of doing so for a brief moment.

“You’re keeping them here,” he said finally, squinting his eyes against the sun that peeked out from between the clouds for a short time.

“We are.” Russia nodded, “The first hearing of the process was last week. We had to postpone the second, we were caught up in Potsdam and…”

“Do you know what you’re going to do with them yet?”

It was now Ivan’s turn to go quiet, his smile slowly melting away as he considered how much to tell Poland.

“I wouldn’t want to say big words,” he said, “but I will tell you, just so you know I am being honest with you. Germany will, in no way, remain a centralised country. Not for a while, he won’t. Prussia is in our zone of occupation…And so far I can only tell you that he will be stripped of all his privileges, no matter the exit of the trial.”

Feliks looked at him, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying to decide whether Ivan was telling the truth or bluffing.

“And that means?”

“Prussia will be abolished,” Ivan clarified plainly, barely showing any emotion. “Its territories will be split between the regions already existing in Germany, Czech, Lithuania…and you. And I am planning to support whatever decision is taken.”

It seemed almost blasphemous to speak of such a thing in front of a monument built to celebrate the Prussian military success. It barely touched Feliks though and Ivan himself seemed to think nothing of it.

“I want to see him,” Poland said. “Prussia.”

“I understand. That can be arranged, I suppose.”

“If the majority is against it,” Feliks continued, looking sideways at Ivan, “I won’t support the decision to work with you. And I want you to promise that you won’t meddle.”

Russia almost laughed, hearing Feliks speak to him so demandingly.

“Of course.”

“But you’ll promise for real, or else there won’t be any deals,” Poland stressed. “I want free elections, I demand that you let that happen before we can even consider partnership.”

“I wouldn’t even think of taking that away from you,” Ivan swore.

“Let’s say I believe you. But only this last time.”

With that, Feliks turned on his heel and, with his hands now in his pockets, began marching away. Ivan watched him, the patronizing look ever-present in his eyes, before following after Poland, catching up easily with only a few wide strides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Background:  
> *Oppression of ethnic Germans in Poland - this was something the German propaganda was full of in the days leading up to the war, meant to show the Poles as barbarians that had no intentions of negotiating or making deals. Of course, Poland did try to negotiate until the very end but was sabotaged by the German government.  
> *Operation Himmler - it included a number of staged attacks against the German forces meant to give the impression that Poland would be responsible in the case of war. Part of the reason it was carried out was also to slow down France and England from declaring war on Germany but it hardly influenced them, as it was clear that such attacks were merely staged. By the beginning of the Nurnberg trial, it was already clear that the most notable incident that was considered the reason for the beginning of the war, the Gliwice incident, was also a false flag attack. For the sake of this fic, however, Prussia admits to it far earlier. This operation did lead to Polish aggression against ethnic Germans as well so for a short time after the official beginning of the war both sides gave major casualties. The sad part was that they were to an extend civilians.  
> *Retaking Gdansk - Gdansk, having a German majority, did want to be unified with Germany and would only benefit from it. Part of the stuff the German Nazi government filled the heads of the Germans was that they had to, without doubts, even with force, retake the territories they had lost that had a primary German population. The idea, however, was far more than that - it was complete extermination of the Polish population and the establishment of territories big enough to feed that of Germany. Such was the reason for annexing Czech and later Slovakia as the German government saw those and all other Slavic countries as second-hand humans. Also, though Prussia refers to the city as Danzig as he would've known it, I've added the diacritic sign over the /n/ in Poland and Czech's speech merely to express their pattern of speech and the general softness of the letter both of them put in their languages and later accents.  
> *Occupation of Czech - this was done with the knowledge and agreement of both England and France and from here comes Czech's bitterness over it. The occupation of the German populated Sudetenland led to negotiations with Czech during which Hermann Georing, then Prussian prime minister, threatened president Hacha that Prague would be bombed if he did not agree to Germany's wishes. Though the decision was very hard to make, Czech did surrender and allowed its occupation by the German forces, choosing this option rather than a forceful and destructive outcome. Czechs were treated a bit better than their Polish neighbours, if only because the Germans thought of the majority of them as having German roots but they were, nevertheless, used as workers to aid the German military needs and were seen as dangerous and far less than the Germans. (In the meantime, Slovakia aided German troops in the invasion of Poland)  
> *Russia-Poland relationship - after the war, Soviet Russia did give word to stay out of the first elections in Poland, however, they did meddle and thus the communist party won the vote. On the note of Russia helping, the Russians did take part in the restoration of Warsaw, hoping to make of the new capital a "symbol of communistic might". At this point, the Soviet Union is very carefully securing its positions on all fronts, thus when, in the last chapter, Russia told Prussia that he will stand up for him and be against his abolition (which was fact, the Soviet government wasn't that against Prussia remaining as Prussia), here he lies to Poland simply to make a good impression with the hopes that he will have an ally for later.  
> *Berlin Victory Column - the column was originally built to commemorate the Prussian victory in the Danish-Prussian War and later the victories in the Austro-Prussian and Franco-Prussian wars. I just adore how every bit of history here symbolizes the horrible tension between Prussia and Poland, namely this - the Polish forces that took part in the battle for Berlin hung their flag from the one monument that symbolised the Prussian success and power.  
> (Thank you so much for reading! <3 I hope you liked the chapter, if there are any historical inaccuracies please point them out so I can fix them! See you next time c: )


	5. Neue Zeiten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a whole month later, it's done! <33 I'm so happy and satisfied to have finished something after such a long author's block! There will be notes in the end but I'd like to thank you guys here too for giving this fic a chance c: I really hope I won't disappoint you with the ending and that all this waiting was worth it!

There were very few taboo topics between them at the time and somehow they remained the same through the entire existence of the Union. Some topics were considered impolite to discuss and a sign of poor taste – soon avoiding them became a habit. That’s why they came up mostly when they would be drinking, a moment when their tongues were much looser and their boldness and egos undoubtedly inflated.

One such dispute formed between the future Soviet satellite states that very evening.

“Russia _is_ helping,” Aleksander had declared in response to whatever perhaps Eduard had said. They had been discussing something completely different but in the past few months, every conversation seemed to undoubtedly lead back to the current political events that concerned them all. “Can’t you see how he’s defending us? And I can tell you now that he’ll get us out of any lawsuits and a second trial won’t happen!”

Amongst the majority of them that had gathered in the room, the thought of Russia’s presence in their personal affairs could hardly be considered helpful. Thus Bulgaria’s quite rare opinion and his confidant statement quickly managed to grab everyone’s attention. Lithuania, who had been sitting by the window and using the light of the setting sun to read the newest paper he had managed to find, threw him a surprised glance, while even Feliks who had until then been lying mutely on his bed made himself listen much closer to the conversation.

Estonia looked at him weirdly and shook his head.

“But you’re biased!” He exclaimed. “And you are certainly the only one supporting Russia right now.”

“Biased or not, the truth is a truth! And I am not supporting Ivan because I love to, who else is there to support?”

“Well, we could choose to negotiate conditions with England and America on the next hearing,” Slovakia proposed, reaching over to take a slice of spiced meat Aleksander had brought to treat them with. They had laid out whatever foods they could find to go with their drinking on a piece of newspaper while they drank strong vodka from the few available teacups or chipped whiskey glasses.

“How?” Aleksander asked. “Who is currently in your borders – them or Ivan’s troops? No, no. You can try but they won’t tell Ivan to get out!”

Tomáš seemed for a moment ready to disagree but he merely made some kind of unimpressed grimace before helping himself to another slice of meat.

“Oh, as if Ivan’s been helping _you_ lately,” Eduard said. “As if he’s been doing something for you, when was the last time you were even on the same side? He’ll support you just as much as he did during the second Balkan war…”

“Hey, Mr Wise Guy,” Romania exclaimed, looking at him bitterly. “How about you deal with your own things up there at Santa’s and keep your nose out of the Balkans’ affairs?”

“No, I see your point,” Aleksander said, sitting up a bit straighter and patting Vladimir’s shoulder. “Good, I understand you. But then tell, if Ivan doesn’t want to help us, why the hell is he defending Prussia?”

“He’s not!” Eduard protested.

“Ah, ah, I was going to say the same thing,” Slovakia threw in. “Haven’t you noticed how he’s always quiet when they’re interrogating him? And he stood up for him! He excused Germany when they brought up why they went to war with Feliks. That’s just my opinion, but…”

“I thought the same,” Aleksander added, looking again at Estonia as if to say, it’s your turn now.

“Of course he won’t outright prosecute him, they were allies! If Russia accuses Germany, at least one person will point out that they were allies in the beginning and he’ll only make a bad impression of himself.”

“But Ivan doesn’t care what impression he’ll make!” Vladimir argued. “He owns half of Europe, who is he going to be impressing?”

“Nothing’s clear yet…”

“It’s all clear,” Tomáš declared calmly. “We might as well start thinking about how we can make the most of it.”

“If there’s even anything to make,” Romania sighed, reaching for his glass.

“In that case, I wonder how we’ll be living with Gilbert…”

“As if he’ll let him live!”

“Well, you’re the ones talking about how he’s defending him! Of course, they’ll let them both live…”

“Hmm, I don’t think so…”

“What are you talking about? That they’ll abolish Germany or Prussia? Nonsense! As if it’s that easy. They can’t do that. They’ll forget about them sooner or later…And then we’ll be back to shaking hands with them, come on…”

“If there’s one reason Russia will stand up for Prussia,” Tolys said, surprising them all by voicing his long due opinion, “it’ll be to secure himself an ally. He can easily force Prussia into accepting his government but it’s always preferable if things such as that happen willingly, to be confident that there won’t be any turmoil among the people. Keep in mind that neither Prussia nor Germany has the right to make demands. Whether Germany will be a united country or not for the future depends only on what the Allies decide. And in that case, it’s impossible to say that both Ludwig and Gilbert will manage to live separately if such a united Germany remains in Europe. The question here is this – will the Allies trust Ludwig or Gilbert to represent that country. If I have to be honest, I think the majority will decide to support Ludwig. With the way Prussia’s acting it’s obvious he isn’t ready to formally apologize and realise his mistakes, that only means that he will be prone to repeat them again. Nobody will be brave enough to give Prussia any more autonomy than he had until now as a state in the Reich.”

Surprised by the hinted cruelty in Lithuania’s words but also admitting their plausibility, the others became suddenly quiet.

“But then they’ll make Prussia a state,” Vladimir said, somewhat quietly as if he were afraid to speak up. “It would be cruel to just…get rid of him, when he didn’t even know. He’s been with us for centuries, we’ll surely miss him one day, when this is all behind us…”

“Speak for yourself,” Tolys mumbled, straightening his newspaper. His tone again surprised his drinking friends.

“I think Tolys needs either a drink or a woman,” Aleksander decided, reaching for the bottle and a clean cup to fill for Lithuania. “Or both, it won’t hurt.”

“Of course not!” Tolys exclaimed, his face quickly becoming red with embarrassment. “I was just saying!”

“We’re just saying too,” Slovakia said, laughing, “it’s okay! Leave that thing and come have a drink already.”

Nobody noticed how quiet Poland had become over the past few minutes. Lithuania hadn’t paid him much attention either and it surprised him when the bed he had been laying down on squeaked and groaned loudly when Feliks suddenly sat up and got off it.

“Feliksie,” he called out to him when he saw Poland going for the door, “where to?”

“Out,” Feliks said, shrugging his shoulders. He already had one hand on the door handle. “I just remembered that I gave my lighter to one of the soldiers downstairs. I’m going to go get it.”

“Better get back before we drink your whole bottle!” Aleksander told him jokingly, raising the bottle and shaking it to show Feliks the fourth of it that was still left inside.

“You can have it all, I guess,” Poland said, bouncing on his heels impatiently. “Just remember who you’re drinking for.”

He left the room before anyone could find something else to waste his time with. There was no doubt that no matter their assumptions, only Poland knew just what the Allies were planning to do with both Ludwig and Gilbert – he already knew who would represent the German people in the hypothetical future of Europe.

Still, it bothered him to listen to such a conversation with that thought in mind. Feliks too had topics he preferred to never bring up, no matter how impossible that was sometimes. He hated to confront his problems so head on but there were some things that he should’ve done already; one of them was to finally see Gilbert, in person.

No one but the Allies was allowed to see or speak to the prisoners. Anyone else had to have their authorization and be accompanied by either Arthur, Francis or Ivan so the guards would know to let them through.

Ivan hadn’t previously let anyone know to let Feliks interact with any of their prisoners yet but Poland was stubborn – all it took was for him to mention Russia for the man guarding the basement they kept them locked up in to concede and let him through, nodding in the direction of the room they held Prussia in. Being finally there, so close to him with nobody else there to narrate their personal conversation, made Feliks just as nervous as he was confident.

It was beyond Gilbert how, despite all those measures, he had still managed to come and see him. He had expected Russia when the door opened, back to manipulate him into compliance – something he referred to as negotiating. But it wasn’t, instead, it was the one Prussia had never expected to see.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Feliks almost jeered, crossing his arms and leaning back against the now shut door. It had been almost a year since the two had stood in the same room together, so close that it would take merely one wide step for Gilbert to grab him and break his neck if he wanted to. “You should see your face right now, it’s so hilarious.”

“Well, when you spend a few months thinking someone’s been dead and done for,” Gilbert said, “the last thing you want is to have that person in arm’s reach again. What do you want? Who let you in?”

“I can go wherever I want. Didn’t I tell you? I’d walk through Ivan’s Siberia and swim through Vistula to get to you. And I meant that in a very unromantic way.”

Gilbert remembered well – he also remembered that when Feliks had cursed him so, he had strongly believed that those would be his last words.

“So? Now we’re here. What are you going to do, curse me, taunt me to death?”

“If words could kill, you’d be long dead by now, believe me. I just came to see you.”

“What for?”

“To say that your little lies in court are petty,” Feliks said. “And they’re pathetic. Do you think they aren’t seeing right through them? The next hearing will be final, they only made the trial this long to hear everybody out. If it were up to them, they would’ve given you the verdict the very first day.”

“Well, look who started thinking of himself as important,” Gilbert grumbled. “Your opinion doesn’t matter.”

“But my word matters,” Poland pointed out nonchalantly. “And what you did to me matters and the winners write history, Gilbert. Everything that you’re lying about now will get out in the next few years too, just so you know. So don’t even bother trying to cover anything up.”

Gilbert too crossed his arms, choosing to look at the wall in front of him instead of at Feliks. If, perhaps, he made his defiance and lack of care visible, maybe the other would catch his hint and leave quicker.

“Do you know what they’ll do to you?” Feliks asked him. Instead of shutting up for good when he saw Gilbert show no interest, he continued, “They’re planning to dissolve you for good.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Gilbert declared, despite wanting to keep his mouth shut.

“Russia told me.”

“And Russia told _me_ something else.”

“Then he’s lying because neither Ivan nor Europe wants you around anymore. What did you expect, that they’d let you do this again in twenty years? They’ve been planning to dissolve you since the day they took Berlin. Prussia hasn’t been important in a long time. Don’t you think it’s about time you started praying every day and night, now that your time is up.”

“Leave, Poland,” Gilbert said, struggling to keep his composure. “I have nothing to tell you and I owe you nothing.”

Feliks huffed, “Liar. Don’t you worry though, you’ll be paying me back soon. How does it feel, Gilbo? To sit alone and wait, to stare at the wall and wonder how you’ll die, when you’ll die?”

“Get out of here or I’ll call the guards,” Prussia warned.

“Is it scary? It’s got to be. But it’s okay, it’ll probably hurt for a few days, or a few months, until every single person who’s ever called themselves Prussian forgets about you!”

“Get out of here!” Gilbert finally screamed and when he did, Feliks nearly jumped, pressing his back against the door when Gilbert appeared for a moment as though he would get up and grab him. “Get out! You have no right to be here, I have nothing to say to you. Just leave me alone already. Out!”

“You know,” Feliks said, whispering almost as his hand found the door handle, “I’ve been thinking one thing for a long time. If I had never given you a chance back then, when I knew you didn’t deserve my help, none of this would’ve happened. I should never have been good to you, now God isn’t going to help you either…”

If only Prussia had anything to grab, he would’ve thrown it at Feliks as he walked out, shut the door with unnecessary force and locked it back up. But maybe even then he would’ve been too weak to – spite was only so powerful and anger couldn’t keep him running forever. For the first time since the whole mess began, Gilbert felt nothing, one huge round nothing, eating him up and leaving behind nothing but more nothing.

He thought that maybe that was how it felt, he was dying. His eyes filled with tears, ones of fear and remorse and anger, and despite knowing it would hardly help, for he had become a mere sinner in the last years, straying from the pure child of God he had been born to be, Gilbert prayed.

He should have known that something was bound to happen as soon as Alfred had so boldly declared the war over. In fact, he did know, for a long time now, how things would end – what had hurt Arthur so deeply and made him run to Alfred’s room in such a hurry was that he hadn’t learned it from America first.

He had received the call just hours earlier and then Ivan had supported the news by informing him that his own troops had already invaded Manchuria, as was their agreement. Francis had tried to calm him when Arthur had completely lost his nerve.

“But, Arthur,” he had told him, “you knew it would come to this! Can you please calm down, do you think Alfred would’ve given his permission to such a thing if there was another way?”

“It doesn’t matter!” England had screamed, refusing to listen and be consoled. “He should’ve told me, should’ve come to me first instead of being so arrogant and saying nothing to us! Who does he think he is?! That brat, just who does he think he is to act such a way and give not a single explanation as soon as he came!”

It was true, Francis couldn’t argue. He had too noticed the careless way Alfred had chosen to handle the situation but he also believed that there was something quite different to blame rather than America’s attitude. Something must have made him change so drastically and he worried too that Alfred was this silent and instead of telling them where he had been, what he had been doing, he had locked himself up in his room as soon as he had come to Berlin and had refused to communicate with them unless there was something important to talk about.

But, of course, they all had their own burden to carry, such were the times. Francis was worried for Arthur, for Alfred and Mathew, himself even. He could understand too what had caused Arthur’s violent reaction and though Alfred was already a man who could care for himself, to say that his actions were rather wrong where it concerned their personal relationship was an understanding.

“Please, calm down,” he had tried to placate Arthur again. “There must’ve been a mistake and if so, Alfred would know by now. Didn’t they mention anything during the Potsdam conference?”

“The hell with the conference!” Arthur had kept shouting, slapping his hands over his desk, walking restlessly back and forth and running his hands across his face in a nervous manner. “This wasn’t the plan! Of course, I agreed to it but the plan was far different. Twice?! What need was there for two bombs?!”

“There couldn’t have been any other way, Arthur…”

“Oh, so we should just kill them all while we still have the excuse to do it?!”

Ivan let himself in just after he had said that to tell him what else was happening that concerned the Japan affair. Arthur hadn’t waited for long after that before running out of his office and marching right for Alfred’s room.

He wasn’t only hurt, he was furious. What had he done to deserve Alfred’s silence? Did the boy not understand how worried Arthur had been this entire time while he had been God knows where, doing God knows what? Couldn’t he understand how badly it insulted him to be treated so coldly after he had done nothing but rely on America and support him?

Arthur had given his consent that was the necessity to use a weapon with the destructive capacity the nuclear one possessed arose, he would support its use. It certainly was something the world had yet to witness, its effects still indescribable and even unimaginable. But it had been and still seemed to be a time of war and as the times changed, one rule kept its relevance – they had to be one step ahead of their enemy side, always, otherwise, they would be the losers. That was impossible to imagine.

The objective had never been this, however, and the target they had discussed previously wasn’t even Nagasaki. Hiroshima Arthur could excuse, he had swallowed down the bitterness the news had caused him when they had let him known what had happened. He would support America in one more decision, sacrifices were always necessary. But how had Alfred decided to repeat that attack when Japan would’ve easily surrendered after Ivan’s involvement? What had ever possessed him to repeat something undoubtedly horrible?

No, he couldn’t be happy even for a moment with the thought that now Japan’s surrender was close to certain.

Once at Alfred’s door, Arthur knocked only once before noticing the door was unlocked. He let himself in as soon as he did, the sound of the door hitting the frame when he shut it startling America. The boy had laid down on his bed and when Arthur barged in, he quickly sat up and reached for his glasses.

“Alfred!” He yelled. “What’s the meaning of this? Didn’t I deserve at least a word from you?!”

“Britain…” America began and then quickly shut his mouth. Arthur waited.

There was a table in the room, by Alfred’s cot, covered in stacks of papers – telegrams and letters, some still unopen. On the small couch by the window, covered in a bunch of unfolded clothes, was his luggage. Alfred apparently hadn’t spread out his belongings too much, knowing that he would have to leave soon anyway.

“He made me do it,” Alfred said, sitting so his back was turned to Arthur. Something in the way he spoke, however, bother his intuition and poked at his rather protective nature. Sometimes it was difficult to escape the feeling that he was still a guardian to Alfred, although not formally, not anymore. Hearing him sound so differently diminished Arthur’s wave of rage and turned it into that of concern.

“Alfred,” he said, walking around the cot to stand in front of America and when he didn’t look at him when Arthur told him to, Arthur knelt down so there wouldn’t be a way for the young nation to escape his persistent eyes even if he wanted. “What happened, Alfred? Who made you do it?”

He waited for America to gather the courage to speak and suddenly it had become much harder to watch his charge struggle with whatever he had been suppressing until then than knowing he had hidden it from him all this time. Politics aside, Arthur had never had it in himself to hold a grudge against Alfred.

“Japan,” America finally said. “I know the plan was different, Artie, I didn’t mean to support it. But he left us no other choice, right? You don’t know what it was like over there…It was a whole other story that here, it was worse. And after all of it how could I look all those people in the eye and tell them that we have to be liberal, you see, because we’re better than them? I couldn’t, Artie…”

“Why didn’t you call any of us?” Arthur asked, his fingers closing over Alfred’s shoulders tightly enough that he could feel the tremor in the younger man’s body as he fought to hold in what he believed would be emotions more suitable for losers than for a hero of war. “We looked for you, we waited for you to call. I waited for you to call. You just disappeared, do you know how worried I was, and now this with Japan…”

“I was there,” America admitted quietly, guiltily. “Japan came to see me, personally, when they caught us…I didn’t have a radio, I couldn’t reach Australia, we had to wait until the camp was taken over and liberated. And that was a long time, nobody even came to look…” He stopped to wipe at his eyes, almost furiously, “He deserved it. I swear, whatever happened to him, he deserved it and the people that supported him deserve it too. You believe me, don’t you?”

“Oh, America…” Arthur sighed. He wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into a tight embrace. Alfred didn’t try to pull away, he clung to Arthur like a child would, trusting that for a small moment he would hide him from everything and everyone.

“You git,” Arthur spoke on, running his thumb across Alfred’s neck soothingly, “you irresponsible child, you could’ve told me all of this the moment you came. You could’ve sent a letter as soon as you got out of there, what would it have cost you?”

“I thought it didn’t matter,” Alfred mumbled. “I had to go back, arrange the things with Kiku, I mean, Japan…I couldn’t have told you anything, I didn’t want you to think that it will have something to do with my judgement in this case.”

“Never do that again, you bloody bastard.”

“Can you…stay here tonight?” America asked, almost shyly. Arthur would’ve stayed, no matter if he had invited him to or not.

“Never hide things from me again, understood?” He asked, sometime later, when the two were already laying on the small uncomfortable cot. Alfred seemed calmer now, closing his eyes from time to time as if to fall asleep already before opening them again to stare at the wall.

Alfred nodded tiredly, rubbing his eyes before again stilling. If Arthur could only understand that telling him everything would be against his own good. Whoever could he trust but himself now? If England wasn’t smart enough to know that nothing would ever be the same after this war, then surely he would never understand the importance of the secrets America and his government kept and would continue to keep hidden.

He turned and twisted for hours but sleep never came, his body and mind never grew tired. The first rays of the morning sun slid inside the room almost unnoticed.

As six o’clock neared, Feliciano began to wonder if he would be able to slip out without waking his brother. Their American lawyer was by no means a light sleeper but Romano, despite having the habit to oversleep most mornings had been under too much pressure lately and that surely resulted in an irregular sleep schedule and much lighter sleep. Feliciano couldn’t be sure that once he was out his brother won’t stir awake and run right after him.

Just before he could gather the courage to get out of bed regardless of his brother, in the cot beside him, Lovino stirred.

“You’re not sleeping,” he said, pointing out the obvious with such horrible annoyance that it was hard to believe anyone could be that grumpy and sour the very moment they awoke. They, obviously, did not know Romano, that Feliciano was sure of. “It’s so early. Cover up and sleep, there’s still a lot of time before breakfast.”

“I couldn’t sleep the entire night…” Italy complained quietly, looking at his brother’s tired face. He opened his mouth to say something else, counting that Lovino had woken up fully, but he had been wrong – after having grumbled all he had wanted to, Lovino had dozed off again.

That was all the confidence Feliciano needed. Tired of waiting anymore he got out of bed and pulled on his boots. He dressed and, as quietly as he could, slipped out of the room.

The thought had crossed his mind many nights before but Italy had been too scared to actually convince himself to do it. He had been scared of many things – of himself, of Romano finding out and scolding him, most of all he had been and still was afraid of what Ludwig would tell him were Feliciano to go and face him again. He had made so many mistakes, he had been weak many times but he had never been a fighter and though he had tried to make something else of himself and his men, he had failed.

What would Ludwig say to him? How would he look at him, would he even look him in the eye? Or would Feliciano be brave enough to, he hoped he would be.

He walked outside. It seemed that the city had begun to come awake slowly, the time nearing seven. Feliciano made his way towards their central base, the one they used to host the trial and undoubtedly to hold their prisoners. Lovino had told him once that the Allies’ political representatives were stationed somewhere else and were dealing with the documentation and the other side of their negotiations. They slept in made beds every night and drank expensive alcohol every evening, they celebrated their victory while in the meantime pushing them away somewhere in the ruins to tend to their private matters, as if they barely mattered.

It was insulting to know such a thing but Feliciano had long stopped trying to make sense of everything and everybody – sometimes things were just as they were.

He chose to stare right ahead while he walked the few feet that separated them from the service building or if not then at his feet. There was nothing else to look at and nothing much to see. If there was, then Feliciano would rather not look at it at all.

The new guards were just coming to replace the night shift and though Feliciano had counted on it, he couldn’t just walk past them while they were busy talking. They stopped him, despite knowing his occupation already and asked him what business he had there so early in the morning. Apparently none of the Allies had come yet and while no actual work was being done, Feliciano couldn’t just go inside without an explanation.

“You see, I didn’t know the rules were like this,” he began explaining in earnest, trying to smile at the guards. “I thought there was someone else here already, Mr Kirkland said some of them were staying here and I thought to myself, well, why not come early. It’s hard to sleep these days, so much to do, so much to think of…”

He tried to explain to the soldiers that he would take only a minute, that he was looking for England or anyone else who could help him with some private matter. But the two men found it a bit difficult to understand the gibberish he was spouting in broken English and the one that had just come for his shift told him to wait at the door while he called. In the meantime, the other finally decided to leave before Feliciano’s presence could force him to waste any more time he could spend resting.

While the soldier tried to contact anyone who could tell him what do with him, Feliciano very carefully walked past him. He took a look around and once he noticed the hall leading to the basement, he hurried down it, hoping that he wasn’t, after all, making a mistake.

There was nobody else guarding the hall and Italy felt lucky. He walked past the few locked doors there, wondering on which to knock. There were windows on a few of them but they had been covered so nobody could look outside and inside. Doing the next best thing he could think of, Feliciano began to try and peek inside room after room through the keyholes, trying to hurry as much as he could before he soldiers upstairs noticed his absence.

Something suddenly caught his eye from the inside of one of the rooms, now cells, in the bottom of the hall and Feliciano, standing on his toes to be able to look through the covered opening, knocked lightly against the rusted surface.

“Germany,” he called quietly to the man inside, the coat and boots of whom he hoped he had recognised right through the small keyhole. “Germany. Ludwig!”

Feliciano knocked again before latching onto the wooden plank covering part of the window. He pulled, managing only to dislodge it enough to have a small look inside, just as he heard footsteps coming from the other side. Then a very familiar face came into view, or at least a quarter of it, and Feliciano realised, with great relief, only by the look on Ludwig’s face that there was and never had been any bad blood between them.

“Italy,” Ludwig said, sounding even joyful given the situation. “What are you doing here, how did you get in?”

“I had to see you,” Feliciano mumbled. He hadn’t spoken with Germany in so long, he could barely believe he finally was. And still, he couldn’t shake off the feeling of shame, couldn’t tell how exactly to talk and what to say now that they were face to face. “Today’s the last hearing…I had to talk to you.”

Ludwig was silent – he stared at Feliciano as though he had something to say but there were no words. If it weren’t for his expression, Italy would’ve thought he didn’t want to talk at all.

“I think you should leave,” he said finally, “before somebody catches you here and you get yourself and your brother in bigger trouble.”

“I’m so sorry,” Feliciano shot out, speaking quickly so he could at least tell Ludwig all he had to say before he made him leave. “Please don’t make me go, I swear I wanted things to be better. If I could do something to make you believe that I still count on you and want to be friends, I will, just please don’t be mad at me!”

“I’m not mad at you,” Germany assured him, though he didn’t sound so confidant himself. “Actually, I think that for now, it would be best not to talk at all. You really don’t owe me anything...”

“What’s going to happen now?” Feliciano anxiously asked, fearing the answer.

Germany shook his head, mutely. He tried to look anywhere but at Feliciano.

“My brother insisted that he defend us himself. We wouldn’t have been allowed a lawyer or advisor anyway...We have nobody to ask what will happen. It wouldn’t matter anyway.”

“What does that mean?”

Ludwig doesn’t answer immediately but not because he’s saving some big good news and wants to tease Feliciano – he doesn’t answer because he fears the answer. He had been running from it the past months and had ignored it whenever it came too close to catching him, hoping it would just go away but it hadn’t.

Secretly he knew what their sentence would be. He had known since they started pulling back suddenly. Gilbert had let him know that he was making a big mistake when it began, when they began losing. He had warned him what would happen if he didn’t get his head out from the hole in the ground he had hidden in and Ludwig had thought that his brother had just lost his spark, that it was about time he sat down, retired, let him fix the mess he had made. Little did he know, not trusting Gilbert would be a fatal mistake.

Ashamed or not, it was no use moping. Ludwig couldn’t tell Feliciano just what would happen in only a few hours, he didn’t want to worry him.

“Germany?” Feliciano urged him, trying to tell by his face alone what he was hiding.

“It doesn’t really matter,” Ludwig lied. “Never mind. I think you should go.”

Hearing him say that left his heart in bruises, even if Feliciano had hoped it would be better.

“I wanted to ask you about us…” he mumbled. “I wanted to know if you’re mad, if you…”

He stumbled over his words and stuttered until Germany just shook his head. Feliciano couldn’t have been farther from the truth but what could he say, what could he do? Ludwig could already feel how hazardous and toxic the next few years would be, he didn’t want to pull Italy into that, not again.

Although, the hardest part to believe was that he had modelled himself after him the past few years just as much as Feliciano had modelled himself after him. If the Allies only knew, and they surely did, just what was to happen with Feliciano?

“I really think you should go, Italy. I…Thank you for your partnership and cooperation. But I think it would be best if we didn’t interact too much, until we see where things will go next.”

Feliciano tried and tried but despite understanding to an extent what Ludwig was telling him, he couldn’t grasp the thought of losing Germany’s trust, of him pushing him away and refusing to be a shoulder he could lean on in the future. Why was he doing it? How could he expect to comfort Feliciano when he acted so coldly?

“If there’s anything I can do…”

“Thank you…Goodbye, Feliciano. We’ll…see each other later.”

“Yes…”

It seemed for a moment that Ludwig would say something else, take his words back and say what he was really feeling and thinking but no such thing happened. Germany remained stoic, professional. He had made a decision and would stick to it, no matter if it was right or wrong.

With nothing left to do and a number of words still left unsaid, Italy left.

He earned himself a smack across the back of the neck from Lovino when word got out about what he had done that morning a couple of hours later. He received a cold, formal warning from England to never do something like that again without their knowledge, though there hardly would be a time such as that ever. In fact, that day in the courtroom would be the last Feliciano would see Ludwig and it would be years later that they would meet again in person, though neither of them knew it then.

The room filled slowly, first being the earliest risers or those who had barely slept through the night. Everybody seemed just a bit tired, far less energetic, unlike during the previous hearings. Nobody was there to argue or watch a circus anymore, they were ready to go home already and the quicker they wrapped up their mess, the better.

It was hardly that easy though.

When the Allies were seated upfront and the defendants were led in, there was another debate. It was hard to keep every decision of theirs a secret and it would cause more trouble in the long run than not, so Alfred took the liberty of informing everybody of the agreements they had reached during the Potsdam conference. That, of course, led to questions concerning Japan and to what degree the decisions they made would concern him. Word of the powerful weapon that had been used to urge him into capitulation had already gotten out and though some already knew of it and others were left surprised, the general impression was one of fear and insecurity.

Would the Allies support the nations in eastern and central Europe? Most certainly, they would try – the question had been debated before and Arthur did promise to look into the matter again, until then he wouldn’t make any sure promises. That, to most of them, meant that the answer was – no, they wouldn’t.

What would be the amount of war reparations to be received by each side and what would happen to their borders? They spoke in numbers next, not so much as discussing as they were declaring the decisions that they had agreed on during the last conference. There was a short moment of tension when Ivan proposed that all financial reparation were paid to the Soviet Union first before the rightful part of that was given to Poland. Feliks was at first very reluctant to agree to such a thing, calling it unfair and unnecessary, before finally accepting it.

Borders, however, were much harder to negotiate. The Allies though, mostly America and Russia, again spoke confidently, as if they weren’t proposing but declaring what would be done without taking into consideration the opinion of the majority – they were merely informing them, as if they were all defendants that had been sentenced.

Mass expulsion of ethnic Germans was to take place in countries such as Hungary, Czech and Poland – good riddance. All Polish citizens from the territories given back to Ukraine and Belarus would have to go back to Poland – a fact that was a bit harder to accept, mostly due to the loss of the already mentioned regions that were considered historically Polish but mostly by Poland himself.

And the longer they discussed borders, the closer they came to the final conclusion – the sentence. It was hard delaying that anymore considering the topic.

Alfred called a break an hour or so past lunchtime, shutting the door on them so the Allies could form the sentence, basing it all on their agreements from Yalta and Potsdam. As it turned out, a lot of points would have to be looked over again in the following months but what they had was enough to make the first step towards recovery.

They called them back in after almost two hours of private debating and everyone was curious if they would tell them just what they had talked so long about behind closed doors or would inform them, as matter-of-fact as before.

“We have taken every single account into consideration while discussing the final sentence,” Arthur was the one to declare once they began again. There certainly was tension in the room, coming not only from the defendants that were sure how things would end for them but still hoped for the best possible thing, but also from everyone else. Half of them had lost all hope for a swift recovery after the war and clung to their dignity, not minding what happened next, while the rest waited to see if their expectations would be fulfilled after all.

“It wasn’t an easy decision to make,” Arthur continued, “and in the following months or even years we’re sure that numerous changes will be made. We do believe it is the right thing to do, however. Thus we can conclude this trial in the following way. Germany, following the last war we trusted that you had learned a very valuable lesson and that you and your government will remain loyal to all decisions taken during our last negotiations – you did the exact opposite. Not only did you go against a number of important agreements we had, you stood, watched and aided numerous war crimes against the majority of us seated here and as a result not only did Europe’s economy plummet, your actions also left a great number of people starving, homeless and just as many dead. Having said that, we are no longer interested in standing by and letting you have the slightest chance of restoring your country’s military and economic potential. What we have decided on is a process of deindustrialization that will take place immediately following a programme that we will create and vote for in the following months.

“Secondly, the Allies are no longer interested in keeping the structural integrity of Germany and its unity. Thus, Germany will be divided into four zones of occupation, its capital Berlin also. The same is to be done to Austria, formerly annexed against his will by Germany and part of the Third Reich that has willingly aided its crimes and thus should be tried accordingly.”

“Living standards in each zone is to be dropped to the bare minimum,” Alfred added, quite casually. Some would have thought of his tone as careless and even cruel. "We have also discussed prohibiting the Red Cross from offering any help to Germany in each of our occupation zones. No humanitarian aid will be offered to you.”

“But you can’t do that,” Prussia, who had until then sat quietly and, with great stoicism, had listened to the final verdict, all but yelled out. “This isn’t only about punishing us, this is punishing innocent people. We will agree to deportations but this is insane!”

“I’m glad that you of all people mentioned it, Prussia,” Alfred said, looking him boldly in the eye. “Not only do you not deserve help of any kind but we can’t in any way trust you to maintain any number of working people. You will be paying reparations to us through labour for as long as we decide. And concerning you personally, the third point we have all agreed on is that we can’t trust the military centre of Germany, in other words – _you_ , to continue being an influence. Neither your attitude, nor your system and beliefs fit anywhere in what we want for Europe. So as soon as our decisions become official and receive recognition, Prussia will lose its status as an autonomous state. Part of the border changes we agreed on is moving Königsberg into the Soviet Union’s borders. The rest of East Prussia will be divided between Lithuania and Poland, Sudetenland will be returned to Czech, that is not negotiable. So, if I were you, I wouldn’t make any such statements as of now – they will not be taken into consideration.”

Those words left Gilbert with his mouth hanging open, almost ready to make a comeback, to deny, until the intensity of what America had just said finally overwhelmed him. It wasn’t only he who was in shock either – many people were prepared already to hear something such as this, they had been prepared to see Germany torn to bits, but to actually hear it come from Alfred was a different thing. Everybody was speechless, ex-enemies stared at the Allies in disbelief while ex-allies had eyes and sympathy only for Gilbert.

“What does that mean?” Ludwig asked, his voice a knife – cutting through the thick silence. He looked at the Allies, then at his brother, genuinely lost. “You can’t mean it. What exactly does that mean?!”

“There’s no need for unnecessary shock,” Ivan said, trying to give some comfort after Alfred had so bluntly declared something that could’ve been presented much differently. “The decision isn’t final. What will happen now is that, according to our decisions so far, the west part of Germany – Ludwig, this means you – will owe the Soviet Union reparations in the form of industrial materials and machines. The reformed eastern part of Germany, currently the Soviet Union’s zone of occupation, will also pay a certain amount of reparations, not just territorial compensations. Prussia, so far, is part of that occupation zone, therefore until we reach an agreement on your actual status, you will be separated and forbidden from interacting with each other. One thing America said correctly – Prussia won’t remain a political power in Europe. We can’t trust you with that.”

While Russia spoke as if he were explaining something to a child, both Arthur and Alfred wanted badly to correct him, to say that Prussia’s military potential was to be wiped out and left in history as soon as possible, otherwise, they risked another war in the next thirty years most likely. Ivan wasn’t convincing anyone else either – they all knew that what Alfred had said, as raw as it had been, was the truth. Prussia was a name that was best left in history and the longer he proved to them that he was immune to change, the easier it was to convince them. He was far from a politician, far from a diplomat, no matter all the years of education and experience – Gilbert was a soldier, and the last thing the world needed was a ticking time bomb of an aggressor.

“You lied…” Gilbert muttered, shaking his head at Ivan as if he had genuinely expected better. Russia, however, seemed unfazed though it was hard to tell when he was lying and when he was being honest lately. Gilbert certainly couldn’t.

They couldn’t say anything else while Arthur continued reading out the sentence, every word feeling like a needle being pinned into them. In summary, as it had been expected, only Germany, Prussia and Austria seemed to carry the heavy burden of being punished as severely as they rightfully deserved. As their lawyer had assured them, Italy and Romano got away with reparations – an amount the Allies were yet to decide and a due date that had yet to be set. Finland, Hungary, Bulgaria and Romania would be in debt to the Allies as well, again as expected, those four seemed to be put together each time they were brought up. Another trial would be set for them to further decide how they would be handled individually along with the rest of Axis’ willing allies, Japan along with them. Nobody discussed Japan, no matter how badly most of them wanted to hear what had happened to him, and that seemed to be the only ounce of manners the Allies showed that day.

“All of the points mentioned today will come into action as soon as today,” Arthur said, in conclusion. “There will be a follow up to decide the amount of reparations that the countries mentioned today will owe the Allies. Though today we formally conclude this trial, there will be many more meetings to follow, considering the matter we're discussing. We still have a lot of work to do. Everybody, thank you for your attendance.”

They began to sit up even before Arthur finished. Nobody had the energy for any angry chatter. As soon as the door opened, America called in the soldiers that had until then acted as guards to take out the defendants.

“When are you going to release him?” Hungary asked, walking up to the man who had just pulled Austria upright to stand on his shaking legs, ready to drag him away. Her own legs appeared to be shaking as she walked as if in a dream, or a sudden nightmare. “Why don’t you release them already, what more do you want?!”

“We have absolutely no need for drama,” Alfred told her, fixing his jacket as he stood up. He nodded towards the soldiers, “Bring Germany to the questioning room, the other two can wait.”

“What are you going to do with him now?” Ludwig asked, becoming somewhat reluctant to let himself be led out without knowing what would happen to his brother now after having heard their sentence. There were too many questions left unanswered and the possibilities made them terribly afraid for the first time in decades.

And while Ludwig was still in denial, it seemed that Gilbert understood his position and he faced it head-on with dignity, remaining quiet while the soldiers cuffed him and refusing to meet anyone’s teary eyes as they looked at him. The only ones lingering were their ex-allies, the ones that could still afford to be associated with them, while the rest slowly walked out, leaving them in the hands of the Allies.

Romano, being one of the first to stand up, could barely wait to grab Italy’s arm and pull him along, stubbornly refusing to let him stay behind and say, what both knew with certainty, would be their last goodbyes with Gilbert. Only Hungary could help but continue arguing, trying to assure Roderick that everything would be alright and that there was nothing to worry about, until Ivan reminded her that he was no longer her business. In fact, it was his presence that prevented most of them from saying a word.

It was only when Ludwig shrugged off the hands of the soldier trying to pull him away and threw himself at him did Gilbert finally, perhaps, realized the intensity of the situation. It was no wonder anymore that his brother had crumbled so quickly, finally losing himself in the sudden wave of emotion. He wrapped his arms around Gilbert, grabbed onto him as if he would disappear on the spot if he let go and he cried.

His sniffled like a child and babbled like one and Gilbert remembered a time when Ludwig had actually been little.

Prussia had been at war at the time or at the verge of it when Ludwig had been still not even a full century old. He had run up to Gilbert the day he was supposed to leave, nearly tripping in his haste to reach him. And when he had, he had clung to him, just like he did now, refusing to let him go anywhere and embarrassing him almost in front of his then generals and officers.

“I don’t want you to go!” little Ludwig had cried in earnest, looking almost theatrical with the way he coughed and choked on his tears. His little face, still chubby and round and babyish, was horribly red. “You can’t go, I’m not going to let you go! What if you don’t come back, people don’t always come back from war…!”

Still too young to comprehend his own immortality, Ludwig had been afraid for his brother each time he left, promising to come back in a month, maybe two, sometimes even a year. Prussia, however, could hear his soldiers snickering and almost laughing behind his back as they watched them – they already knew how clingy their young empire could be, especially towards Gilbert, and they also knew that he was completely wrapped around little Ludwig’s finger. Still, the last thing he needed was to be embarrassed in front of them.

Gilbert had knelt in front of Ludwig then, had held his face and had brushed away the snot and the tears with the back of his hand before urging his to calm down. He hadn’t smiled, hadn’t even looked at him fondly.

“What have a told you?” He had asked the sniffling child. “You can’t cry, you can’t send anybody to war like this. Stop acting like a baby! Look at me, look at me, Ludwig.”

Gilbert waited until he was sure he had his brother’s attention before saying, “You can’t be crying all the time anymore. You’re big now. I forbid you from making such scenes, understood? Whenever you want to cry, you’ll wait until it’s only the two of us, alone. Even then you’re not allowed. Understood, Ludwig?”

Ludwig hiccupped, two more heavy tears slipping down his round cheeks. It pained and confused him, the way his brother treated him so coldly, but he nodded nonetheless.

“Good,” Gilbert said, “now, come, give me a hug.”

He let Ludwig hug him and kissed his cheek when it was finally time to go. Ludwig grew far quicker than he could imagine and away from Gilbert, he grew out of the age when he could freely cry. A brick wall built itself in Ludwig’s mind and heart just as quickly over the many years and what it took for it to finally crumble was the realization that Gilbert, the man he had always believed would outlive anything and everything, the man who had made himself immortal, would die – maybe in a month, maybe in a year, or what if it happened tomorrow?

Suddenly Ludwig realized he couldn’t imagine a world without Prussia – no matter what happened, without Gilbert he would be all alone, for good.

“Please, don’t leave,” he gasped, hiding his face in Gilbert’s chest. He might have been a few inches taller, maybe he had to bend his knees to do so, but Ludwig was no more than the little boy who had sent him off to war with tears in his eyes, the little boy who would come looking for him after a nightmare and threw tantrums whenever Gilbert had to leave and that was perhaps the final drop in Gilbert’s glass. His own eyes filled with tears so heavy they almost overflowed.

“Please, you can’t do this to him, it was all my fault.” Germany continued, babbling to no one in particular. “I made him do all those things, I begged him to help me. He’s sorry, he’s so very sorry, please don’t destroy Prussia.”

“Ludwig,” Gilbert said quietly, swallowing the sudden urge to cry and remaining stoic. They were being given a moment but the time surely wasn’t the right one to act childishly. “Ludwig, _stop_. Get a grip on yourself.”

He fought the need to latch onto Ludwig and instead tried to push him away, all while blinking away the moisture in his eyes.

“Let go and get a grip,” Gilbert ordered, through gritted teeth. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“I don’t want you to go…” Ludwig whispered, hoping his brother wouldn’t be too mad at him for showing such weakness. But when else would he get the chance, what if he never got to see him again? “Please, we still have so much to do, you still have so much to do…”

“Stop it, Ludwig,” his brother nearly snapped. It was already hard to comprehend everything and with his mind a whirlwind of confusing thoughts, there was no room for any emotions to complicate things further. Later Gilbert would be horribly sorry to remember that he hadn’t even hugged his brother goodbye that day. “Just let go, you’re embarrassing both of us. What are you, a child or a man?”

This time there was no goodbye kisses or hugs, he was far too old for those and it wasn’t the time for such pleasantries. Ludwig believed he didn’t deserve them either. It wasn’t a secret that he had disappointed Gilbert, that’s why he acted in such a way. Not only had he disappointed him, he had ignored him when his opinion had mattered most and for the second time, Gilbert had taken all the burden of Ludwig’s failure.

They took Ludwig and Roderick away – Erzsebet was already in tears, her eyes darting between him and them and then the Allies and Russia in particular, as if they could help or change the sentence they had just given. Surprisingly it was Romania who grabbed her by the arm and dragged her away while she struggled weakly, calling him names but without much enthusiasm. She threw Gilbert one last, lasting gaze while Czech took her hand and helped her out, whispering something to her, perhaps words of comfort without meaning.

At the sight of him, trying and possibly failing to appear courageous, fresh tears filled Erzsebet’s eyes.

They took him to a room a floor above. There was a bathroom there and the faucet above the sink seemed to work. With the help of a piece of rock hard soap Gilbert washed himself as best as he could before putting on the clothes they had given him. All of that was done in a hurry – not even a full hour later he was being taken out again.

Ivan was waiting for him outside by a car and once he saw Gilbert, his lips twitched just barely, their corners almost coming up into a smile. They got in the car, Ivan in the front beside the driver while Gilbert sat alone in the back. He understood they were going somewhere but still had not a single clue where.

The car started, slowly at first as the driver tried to drive around the numerous holes in the once impeccably paved street. Gilbert couldn’t help but stare bitterly out of the window – it had been months since he was able to go outside and somehow he would’ve preferred to spend the rest of his remaining life in the basement, in his dirty and wet cell, than be forced to look at what they had done to his city.

The tears that he hadn’t been able to fully chase out of his eyes before returned again but this time, they were more out of spite than of anything else.

“Why so angry, Prussia?” Ivan asked him suddenly, having noticed his silence. His tone was cheerful. “Are you unsatisfied with something?”

Gilbert wouldn’t have replied, fearing that his voice would crack and show how distraught he truly was, but he couldn’t stay silent forever either.

“What’s going to happen now?”

“We’ll go to a meeting,” Ivan told him. “Then another meeting. There are a lot of things to do, work is just beginning.”

“And then?” Gilbert asked, wanting to hear an answer, even a vague one, to the question that most bothered and scared him.

“Then we go to Moscow. Are you afraid, Gilbert? For yourself? Or for your brother maybe?”

Gilbert tried to smile, “Don’t you worry about me or him. Do with me whatever you want, but we both know Germany’s the future. You can’t ever erase everything I’ve done, Russia. Good luck forgetting me.”

“Nobody’s going to forget you for a long time,” Ivan agreed, albeit sourly. “It really was good working with you, after all. Both as a rival and an ally.”

“I don’t ally with liars.”

“Neither did I,” Russia sighed, leaning his head against the car’s window. “Having you around has always been a huge mistake.”

A few tears escaped his stubbornness, rolling down slowly and pooling into his palm as he supported his chin. Gilbert was afraid, as any man would be – any man who had just understood that every day could be his last. Any man, at least, who had missed his last chance to do all that was best and any man who could no longer find comfort in the thought of Heaven.

And while Gilbert was having his last goodbyes with what was left of Berlin, Ludwig was brought into the interrogation room where he was sat to wait. He didn’t know for who or for what but he waited. When you had all the time in the world, it didn’t matter if you had to wait an hour or two.

When the door opened with a horrible screech, Ludwig didn’t look up. He listened as it was shut closed and locked from the outside, then footsteps coming nearer and the scrape of chair legs across the tiled floor. He couldn’t tear his eyes off his hands and only when he heard the person across him sigh heavily did he realize he was sitting in America’s now unpleasant company.

“So, are we going to spend the next hour playing library,” Alfred said, his words drowned out, “or are we going to have a long, important conversation?”

Ludwig cleared his throat, “I think we already had the most important conversation there was to have. And it was mostly one-sided.”

“No, right now we’ll have a good old dialogue,” Alfred assured him. “And I suggest that you listen carefully because I’m about to give you a very nice chance to start over.”

Ludwig wasn’t stupid enough to hope, he wasn’t ready to believe everything America told him either. By the way he spoke, it seemed that Alfred hadn’t discussed any of this with the rest of the Allies before.

Still, he listened.

“It must be terrible, to lose family,” America said, “and you should feel the way you do. We might have done good work here but we’re just now beginning to set deadlines and conditions and whatever. So cheer up, you still have time to pay us back. And because I like to get to the point, there might also be a way to keep your brother around too.”

That managed to finally catch Ludwig’s attention and he looked up at Alfred, raising a brow to show he was still sceptical.

Alfred continued, leaning over the table, “Our decision still stands, there won’t be any Prussia. But there are many ways to keep Gilbert around and you know that. If you cooperate with us, in a few years’ time you might see each other again.”

Feeling just a little bit hopeful now and having nothing more to lose, Ludwig said, “And what do you want me to do?”

Satisfied, America leaned back into his seat.

“I want us to work together to destroy the Soviet Union and its potential. And when we do, you’ll have your brother back and if we’re satisfied with your work, we just might change our own attitude towards you again, Germany. What do you say? That’s one deal you can’t afford to miss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will not bother you with historical background that was merely hinted now and I won't waste your time with headcanons, you can always ask me if you want to hear c: I took a lot of time with this since a lot of new ideas started popping up, I got wrapped up in a bunch of new stuff I'm feeling excited for and hope to work on now and writing this fic while under the influence of other ideas seemed kind of off. I don't know how good this last chapter is, a lot of foreshadowing somehow happened, I think it's obvious that America and Russia are going to be the most prominent antagonists in this time period, though I'd hate turning them into too much of villains. I really want this fic to kind of pave the way for all of my historical Hetalia fiction, I might even make it a series, I don't know, depends on what you guys would like to read! c: I really hope this chapter hasn't disappointed you, I loved all the positive attention this work received and hope to get more for the rest of my works. I'm always open to hearing reviews and comments, right now more so than before, so don't be shy to tell me how you've liked this story! I'm looking forward to seeing you in the comments of my next stories! :)) See you!


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